


mambo writes fluffy tumblr prompts

by mambo



Series: mambo's short fics [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: #CaptainAmericasBoyToy, #StarkWedding, Almost Kiss, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hipsters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, America's Next Top Model AU, Art Museum!, Artist!Steve, Bartender AU, Bucky Has The Sniffles, Christmas AU, Clones, College AU, Do You Wanna Build A Snow Man?, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Dungeons & Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Engineering Student!Bucky, Fluff, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Great Depression, Grindr AU, Happy Birthday Cap, High School, High School AU, Hipsters, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra, Kid Fic, Liberal Arts School Staff AU, M/M, Mall Santa AU, Military, Military AU, Minions, Mostly humor, Muse!Bucky, Never Let Me Go - Freeform, Never Let Me Go AU, Omega Verse, Skinny!Steve, Steve Can Be A Reckless Asshole, THEY HAVE DOGS AU, Tagging This Is Literally The Hardest, Vampires, Veteran Support Group AU, Veteran!Bucky, Wedding Date AU, Werewolf AU, amusement park au, bar au, cap!steve - Freeform, coffee shop AU, modern!Bucky, online dating au, tuxedoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 100
Words: 82,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I like to write fluffy, short-ish prompts in my free time. Lots of kisses and hand-holding and stuff. It's pretty gross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Almost Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna leave a prompt, inbox me at whtaft.tumblr.com!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a prompt :3 - almost kissing? like they get so close they almost kiss and start to close their eyes and everything but then something happens and they jump apart >:D --anon

Steve is breathing heavy, plopping onto the wooden locker room bench with a grunt. Moments later, Bucky is laying there next to him, head resting on Steve’s thigh. He moves so quietly now, one of the remnants of the Winter Soldier, even now that Bucky has recovered so many pieces of himself that he had lost. So while Steve huffs and puffs, Bucky smiles up at him, chest maybe moving a little more than usual, but looking like they haven’t just been sparring for three hours straight.

“Jerk,” Steve says on reflex; Bucky’s grin just gets wider.

“Old man,” Bucky replies, so casual that it takes Steve’s breath away.

It’s just, oh god, it’s just that it feels so right, the two of them being here. Together. And this, these casual moments of intimacy, these are what Steve dreamed of during those months of searching and chasing—then the brief interlude of fighting giant, evil robots—and finding and recovery and now, and now Bucky can lay there smiling. It’s all too much an not enough, mixed up in one.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, smiling fading. “You okay?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, then all at once he’s getting up, leaving and it’s not okay, not at all. “No, you ain’t. I’m gonna call for a medic, just be a—“

“Bucky.” Steve’s grabbing Bucky’s metal arm, gently tugging him back so that he’s facing Steve again. “Bucky, I’m fine.”

He should let go, but he doesn’t. Just lets his grip get tighter, knowing that Bucky can just feel the barest hint of pressure on that arm, just enough to let him know that Steve doesn’t want to let go.

The corner of Bucky’s lip twitches, something daring and playful in it that’s familiar and new, all at once. “Yeah? We’ll see ‘bout that.” He takes a step in closer and leans down. He puts his flesh hand on Steve’s forehead, checking to see if he has a temperature. Steve swallows hard. “Feels a little warm, buddy. Lemme…” He moves the hand to Steve’s neck, rests his thumb just next to the curve of Steve’s throat. It’s dangerous. Bucky hasn’t been Bucky for long, but. But it’s Bucky and Steve loves him and with him, Steve feels safe.

When Bucky lets out a breathy chuckle, moist air hot against Steve’s already sweaty face, Steve feels himself tense. Bucky’s fingers trail lightly against the back of Steve’s neck, the feel of his short nails against his skin raising goosebumps all over him. Steve takes a shuddering intake of breath and his eyes flutter shut.

“I think,” Bucky says and Steve can hear and feel him coming closer, his soft warm presence drawing near, where it always should be. “I think you may got a fever. Think I can help?”

Steve tries to nod.

“Ah,” Bucky says, warm breath on Steve’s lips now and the jerk is teasing him, Steve knows he is. “What if I—“

And there’s a clang as the door opens and when Steve opens his eyes Bucky is at his locker, already with his shirt off and rolling deodorant on and there is Clint Barton with nothing but a towel around his waist and a pair of flip flops on his feet.

“Hey guys,” Clint says. “What a day.”

“You said it,” Bucky replies, looking back and smirking at Steve.

Steve groans.

Clint gets in front of him and asks, all concern, “You need a medic?”


	2. Waking Up With Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve has a nightmare about losing Bucky and wakes up looking for him but he's already there in bed next to him (because he woke up with nightmares a couple of hours ago) --queenmjolnir

_Pierce puts a gun up to Bucky’s head._

_“Never see a mission half-done, Captain,” Pierce says. Bucky is shaking. But there are no restraints on him, nothing but Pierce’s gun, so easily held that it could be pried right out of his hand. Bucky could. But he’s not fighting back. “I had to admit that your cohorts gave it the old college try, but I’m not so easily killed. Like yourself.” He pauses, looks down. “Like your friend, here.”_

_Bucky shudders._

_“Don’t—“ Steve begins, but the constraints on his neck get tighter, keep him from speaking._

_“You’re right, Captain,” Pierce says. “Maybe I should let the Asset…” He looks thoughtful. “Let Sergeant Barnes do the honor.”_

_He lowers the gun, kneels down in front of Bucky. They’re at eye level when Pierce passes the gun into Bucky’s hand. “Code Manhattan,” he says. “But wait until I step back.” He glances over his shoulder at Steve, smirking. “Wouldn’t want to get blood on the suit, you see. It’s been tailored.”_

_Steve struggles but the restraints just get tighter and tighter._

_Pierce takes one step, then two. “At your leisure, Sergeant.”_

_Bucky stares at the gun—just a plain, black, little thing—then pulls it up to his face. He situates it between his lips, hands not shaking anymore and—_

——

“Bucky!” Steve yells, popping out of bed and scrambling to get out of bed, tangling himself up in the covers in the process. “Bucky,” he repeats, softer when he’s standing because there he is, bunched up in the corner of Steve’s room, sitting with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. “Sorry,” he says, voice breaking. “Sorry Steve, I couldn’t, I couldn’t sleep, and…” Steve can only stare, still breathing hard from the nightmare. “I’ll go, Steve. I’ll go, please just. I.” He winces, like he’s expecting some kind of… some kind of  _punishment_. It makes something churn in Steve’s stomach.

“Me too,” Steve says, taking one slow step forward, then another. “Woke-up from a nightmare.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide, almost disbelieving.

“Is there room for me, too?”

Bucky nods once and that’s all Steve needs. He reaches back and grabs the blanket from his bed and sits down next to Bucky. He spreads the blanket over the two of them and, after Bucky seems comfortable, reaches down and holds Bucky’s wrist gently.

He’s there, safe with Steve, warm and soft in a soft cotton t-shirt and flannel pants. Bucky snuggles into Steve’s side, presses his face into the side of Steve’s neck and.

Well.

It’s the safest he’s ever felt.


	3. Stereotypical Coffee Shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you are still taking prompts what about a coffee shop AU where both of the boys are convinced the other is dating EVERYONE except for them? super bonus if Clint takes way to much advantage of and glee in the situation --cosgaycosplay

“This looks bad,” Clint says, looking down at the giant coffee spill surrounding him. “But I can explain.”

Steve stares at the mess, dead-eyed and wishing that he hadn’t agreed to cover for Natasha while she took a long lunch. “Explain,” Steve demands, beginning to mop up the mess.

“Well, I—“

The door opens with a little ding. Steve turns around, ankle deep in Clint’s disgusting, bitter coffee spill and there’s Bucky Barnes, looking tall, polished and slick, everything that Steve Rogers, broke, tiny, barista is not. Sometimes Steve wishes he were like the Wicked Witch of the West and that coffee would make him melt. Now is one of those times.

But sadly, he doesn’t. Bucky just looks over at the mild catastrophe, grins and struts on over. “Need help, Rogers?” he asks, grabbing the top of the mop.

“Do not,” Steve says, pulling the mop away from Bucky and very intensely mopping away the mess.

“You sure? Think that thing’s bigger than you are.”

It’s a full six inches shorter, thank you very much, Steve doesn’t say. Just scowls down at the mess.

“It’s my fault,” Clint says, throwing an arm over Steve’s shoulder. “See, I was sorta distracted, looking at Stevie behind the counter. Tripped and spilled it all over.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. Steve rolls his eyes and shrugs Clint’s arm off his shoulder.

“You should be more careful.” Bucky looks… Well, he looks angry. “Makin’ more work for your… It’s not good. You should treat him better than that.” His face screws up for a moment, like he wants to say something else, but is restraining himself. Instead, he asks, “Natasha here?”

Steve’s heart falls, but only a little.

“She’s still having lunch,” he says, wondering why the two of them never seem to text each other, like normal couples do. Steve doesn’t like being the go-between for anyone, but especially when he’s got this dumb crush on the grad student who drinks more coffee than can possibly be healthy. “I can tell her you dropped—“

The door clings open again and there’s Natasha, sipping a smoothie from the bubble tea place down the street in a thick, green straw. “Fellas,” she says.

“We still on for our date later?” Clint asks and… What?

Steve glances at Bucky, who is looking back at him, confused.

“Of course,” Natasha says, sauntering behind the counter and pulling her hair up. “Seven, right?”

“On the dot,” Clint replies, looking happy as a clam.

“Wait,” Steve says, “You two are…”

Clint nudges Steve’s side with his elbow. “Gettin’ some fondue tonight.” He pauses. “Good luck with that spill. I’ve gotta spruce up a bit for tonight.”

Natasha rolls her eyes as Clint leaves the shop.

“I thought…” Steve says, trailing off, looking down at the mess he has to clean up.

“Oi, Stevie.” Steve looks up and Bucky’s got this nervous-looking half-smile that shakes him down to his feet. “When d’you get off?”

“After I clean this up, I guess.”

“You doin’ anythin’ after?” Steve shakes his head. “I’m real hungry. Wanna go out for a bite?”

Steve blinks, waiting for some kind of punchline, but Bucky just smiles. So Steve smiles back. “Yes.”


	4. Museum Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve and Bucky - art museum or art gallery date -- hawkeye-hawkeye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is totally my favorite.

“Oh,” Bucky says.

Steve turns his head from the painting to Bucky, who is staring at it, lips unconsciously parted, long hair pushed back from his eyes for what seems like the first time in ages.

“Buck?” Steve asks, giving the painting a second glance.

Jackson Pollock, [ _Greyed Rainbow_](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/83642), 1953.

It’s not Steve’s first choice, but Bucky steps a foot closer to it, unable to tear his eyes away.

“I think I.” He cuts himself off.

“Buck, what is it?” 

When Bucky doesn’t answer him immediately, Steve searches for some kind of answer in the splatters of paint. Abstract Expressionism may have began in the 1930s, but Steve was never really introduced to it. He was too enamored with the Modernists and the Regionalists, the Magical Realists and Surrealists. The other side of the Art Institute has a whole wing of the paintings that seem so familiar, the ones that were just being painted when he was in school and still thought he could end up an artist. He likes to see that Georgia O’Keeffe is now more famous than her husband, Alfred Stieglitz, even if she wasn’t at the time. There’s Charles Demuth and Marsden Hartley, who were purportedly queer and whose careers Steve had followed carefully. It’s the first time he sees any of Albright’s paintings up-close; his close ties with Chicago meant that Steve never saw his work in New York. And Hopper’s  _Nighthawks_ , lonely but popular, reminding him too much of those lonely months before he had met Sam and before Bucky had come back to him.

There’s even a large painting by Stuart Davis. It’s from the fifties, but it reminds Steve of the time he  _met_  Davis, when they had briefly talked about Davis’s beliefs on politics and art. He had snuck Bucky into Radio City to see Davis’s mural in the men’s room after that; the security guard dragged them out by their ears.

While Steve had chattered away in that area of the museum, Bucky walked quietly, barely saying a word, only there to humor Steve. Bucky was never all that interested in any art besides Steve’s but not even seventy years apart kept Bucky from humoring Steve in the museum. So they went through the American art and the early European. Bucky only vocally scoffed when they saw Duchamp’s _Hat Rack_  hanging from the ceiling. But this is the first time he’s seen Bucky look at a painting and…

“It’s my head,” he says quietly. A tourist hovers next to the painting, having their partner take a picture of them smiling next to it. Bucky shuffles to the side but doesn’t stop looking.

“Buck…”

Steve doesn’t like the abstract expressionists. The de Koonings seem like scribbles to him, the Rothkos confusing. But the Pollocks… He knows how much they go for at Christie’s and Sotheby’s, how collectors would fight to the death for the chance for one. He knows that this painting in front of him is the one that tourists come to this Museum to see. People buy umbrellas with this pattern at the gift shop. It’s important. It’s special.

And Steve doesn’t understand.

Years of art school, training himself to be open-minded and yet, this painting does little for him. If anything, it makes him want to look away. It’s ugly. It’s  _hard_. 

He looks at Bucky looking at it, though, the way that he’s nodding with a short little movement as his eyes rake the canvas up and down again and again, and he thinks that maybe it wasn’t painted for him. 

Bucky pulls his eyes away to glance at Steve. “I like this one,” he says.

Steve reaches out and smooths back Bucky’s long hair. “I’m glad,” he says.

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks. “You hate it.”

“I don’t understand it.”

Bucky’s expression becomes serious again. “That’s good,” he says, too earnest. He’s more careful with his words now and when he speaks, whatever he says matters. “I don’t want you to.”

Bucky’s blue eyes haven’t left Steve’s. Steve feels short of breath; that’s not anything new, not since Bucky came back to him. Steve takes a step closer and Bucky melts into him when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders.

They look at the painting for another minute, tangled up in each other. Then Bucky says, “Let’s go home.”

Steve pulls him in tighter and leads him out of the gallery.


	5. Wedding Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hi! Are you taking au prompt requests too? I'd love to see a Wedding Date au with Bucky as the "date" and various Avengers playing Steve's family of sorts --anon

“So,” Bucky says, pulling at his tight tuxedo collar. “Who all is gonna be there?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, shifting uncomfortably in the back of their limo.

All Bucky knows about this gig is that this Rogers guy is some kind of famous artist—has his own Wikipedia page and everything—and that this wedding is a big deal. Tony Stark’s big deal, to be exact. He doesn’t exactly know the relationship between Rogers and Stark, but he does know that it seems to be a touchy subject. Rogers got all finicky when Bucky asked him about it, so he’s guessing some kind of an ex. When Bucky started being an escort to help him pay for grad school, he never thought he’d get to go to Tony Stark’s wedding.

He wishes he had rented a looser tuxedo. The food’s probably gonna be the best stuff he’s eaten in months.

(He’s been living off of whatever he gets at these events, ramen, mac and cheese and intense disdain for the undergrads who don’t understand Chicago-style citations but expects Bucky to give them a good grade anyway.)

“I mean, who’re the cast? The character? Who should I know because you’ve mentioned them to me on our several dates.”

Rogers wants him to pretend that they’re in a kind of serious relationship. But Rogers has barely looked at Bucky all night; probably thinks that Bucky’s beneath him because of his job. Whatever. This isn’t the first time Bucky’s encountered someone who is only doing this out of sheer desperation. As long as they pay him at the end of the night, Bucky isn’t too sure he cares.

“Oh,” Rogers says. “Um. There’s Tony. He’s the one getting married.” His face falls. “We had a thing, a while ago. But that’s…” He trails off and frowns. “Pepper is the bride. She’s pretty amazing. The only person I’ve seen keep Tony in line.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky says, trying to remember these details. It’s almost like cramming before an exam. Except Bucky cares a lot more about New Deal Judicial Policy and the Roanoke settlement than he does about the friends of the guys who pay him to be their date. But he has to admit, Steve Rogers is a lot cuter and a lot younger than most of the guys he goes with. He’s also almost sure that Rogers won’t make a move on him, probably won’t even drunkenly try to pinch his ass, which he gets more than he likes to think about. “Friends? Family?”

“Natasha,” Steve says. “She’s Russian. She might, uh, be a spy. We’re not exactly sure. And there’s Clint who just sort of comes with Nat.” He pauses. “Natasha. She won’t want you to call her Nat, not yet.”

And so Bucky makes sure to remember to call her Nat; this fake familiarity and whatever.

“She won’t be able to see through my cover, right?” Bucky asks, a little jokingly.

“Well, I may have… Been dropping hints. For a while. About a guy. But keeping it quiet. It didn’t work out, which is why…” He gestures at Bucky a little weakly. “So hopefully she won’t.”

“Alright,” Bucky says. “Anyone else?”

“Sam. He’s my best friend.” There’s a bit of proudness to his voice, which Steve thinks may be sort of adorable. “He’s a vet, works over at the VA.” He pauses. “Oh, and Bruce! He’s a Professor at NYU.”

“No shit?” Bucky asks. Steve looks confused. “I’m a student there.”

“You are?” Steve asks, half-shocked and when Bucky starts laughing. “No, I didn’t mean, I—“

“Don’t sweat it, Rogers. Really. Not like I wanna stay in this business my whole life.”

“Steve,” Rogers, well Steve corrects. He pauses. “What’re you studying? I mean, if I can ask.”

Bucky leans back in his seat, small smile playing on the corner of his lips. “Dissertation is on Homosexual Cultures during the Depression. Where they hung out, what they did, what the lingo was, etc. Probably won’t get me a job, but I like what I’m doin’. Hopefully it’ll be publishable when it’s all said and done.”

Steve just stares.

“What?” Bucky asks, a little self-conscious. Can’t be that this guy’s a homophone or anything. He wanted a male escort, for christsakes.

“You, uh…” He clears his throat quickly. “You know anything about homoerotic New Deal murals?”

——

They come out of the reception sweaty from dancing and grinning from too much champagne. No one seemed to suspect that Steve was paying Bucky to be there and for the most part, Steve’s friends were nice, welcoming him with grins and nudges. They all seem to love Steve. Rightfully so, Bucky thinks. He’s a good guy. Deserves good friends.

Bucky snatches a glance. They’re waiting for the limo—something Stark had provided for all his guests to make sure no one drove home drunk—and Steve has this small, serene smile on his face. His bow tie hangs undone around his collar and the first button of his shirt is undone. His hair falls into his eyes a bit, loose from the party. He catches Bucky looking and Bucky quickly—but probably not quickly enough—looks away.

“Hey,” Steve says.

Bucky looks up again.

“I had a good time tonight.”

And here’s the part where Steve puts Bucky in a taxi—or maybe a limo, given that’d be free—and hands him an envelope filled with cash. Whatever. Bucky had a good night, either way.

Sometimes he just wishes a guy like Steve would take him out and not hand him a wad of cash at the end of it, okay? He’s not a hopeless romantic, just a guy.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, then adds too quickly, “Kinda my job.”

The smile falters for just a second. “Yeah,” Steve says, quiet.

“But if it makes you feel better, you’re like, the coolest guy I’ve ever done this for.”

Steve seems to perk up, just a hint. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees and they’ve both said yeah way too much during this conversation.

“I, um.” Steve pulls an envelope out of his coat pocket and Bucky’s stomach drops. “Here,” he says.

Bucky takes the envelope and tries not to be sad. He doesn’t think he’s ever been said after being handed an envelope filled with that much cash before, but he guesses that there’s a first time for everything.

“Thanks.” Bucky slips the envelope into the inside pocket of his tuxedo.

Steve’s mouth twitches. “Now that we’ve got this out of the way, and… Don’t think that you owe me anything, you’re free to…” Steve shifts his weight from foot to foot for a second; he looks nervous, which is hilarious because a guy that good-looking should never look nervous about anything. “If you’re not busy, do you wanna grab a cup of coffee sometime? With me, I mean.”

Something warm spreads through Bucky and it’s not the champagne.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Yeah, I really would.”


	6. Secretly Dating Online

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: still taking prompts? your writing always makes me so happy : Bucky has been Steve's secret online boyfriend all freshman year and he had no idea --magicpreppy
> 
> Yoooo, Tumblr user yulaty translated this ficlet into Thai and made a great photo edit to go with it!! Check it out here:  
> http://yulatyyu.wordpress.com/2014/09/25/translated-captain-america-secretly-dating-online/

It starts one night in early October. Steve and Clint get drunk in their room together like first-year roommates with hearing aids tend to do, which is how Steve ends up signing up for Blind Date a website started by a few people at Shield University to set people up without having ever seen each other’s faces. Of course, it’s become a bit of a booty call machine, but Steve waxes on in his—thankfully anonymous—profile about true love and poetry and radical feminism and whatever, so he doesn’t expect to get any messages.

Except he does.

So that’s how it starts.

——

Winter_Soldier is a sophomore, isn’t really out. He’s a physics major who still sort of believes in love but hates romantic poetry. Into modernism. He grew up in Brooklyn. His favorite movie is Sabrina, the old one with Audrey Hepburn and shut the hell up, it’s because he watched it with his sisters so often when he was younger, okay?

He doesn’t give a shit about art. Until Steve tells him about it. Then he says maybe he could give a shit, if Steve dragged him to a museum.

(Neither of them ask to meet in person. Steve knows that as soon as he sees his skinny, nerdy, hearing-impaired, asthmatic self, he’ll want out.)

——

For Christmas, he tells Steve to call him Bucky and asks if he wants to be his super secret undercover boyfriend.

Steve says yes.

——

On Valentine’s Day, Steve gives Bucky his phone number so they can text.

They text.

A lot.

—-

(One time he thinks he can hear someone across the quad yelling “Bucky!” and waving to someone. The guy who greets him with a smile and a broad hug is muscular, handsome with dark hair and a mischievous smirk. He winks at a girl with twinkling blue eyes before pulling out his phone and checking to see if he has any texts. Steve walks away, sure that his hearing aid must need a new battery.)

——

But the never call each other, another one of their unspoken rules, like meeting up in person. The only people who Steve has even told that they’re dating are Clint—because he can’t keep anything from Clint—and Natasha, Clint’s best friend who Steve thinks is his friend, but he can’t really be sure. She’s a bit hard to read.

——

And, like, this should be weird, but somehow it’s not. Steve very well knows that he could be in the midst of some catfishing scheme from Clint or a jackass back home, but it doesn’t feel like it. Not when Bucky texts him one night and says that he loves him. Not when Steve texts back and says that he does, too.

——

And it ends one day when Steve breaks the rules.

It’s late April and he’s just found out that he’s going to get a C in his intro to graphic design class and can only pull it up to an A- if he gets a 98% on the final. Which is not going to happen.

And all he wants it to hear Bucky’s voice.

It’s stupid, he knows. Reckless. But he calls Bucky’s number as he walks into a nearby buildling. It rings once, twice and Steve is so distracted and nervous that he doesn’t notice that the guy who had been walking in front of him has stopped moving to fumble with his pockets. So Steve walks right into him.

“Shit,” Steve says as the call goes to voicemail.

(He doesn’t even have a personalized voicemail, just the standard female robot voice.)

“Sorry man,” the guy says, slicking a hand back through his dark hair. “Got distracted.”

“Um,” Steve says. “Yeah, sorry.”

The guy smiles, but it falls. “You okay?” he asks.

And this isn’t what Steve needs right now, this gorgeous guy asking if he’s okay because he’s not and the last thing he needs is to break down here. So Steve nods. “Yeah, thanks.” Before heading to the other side of the room to wait. For nothing, really. Just wait.

A few seconds later, Steve’s phone begins ringing.

It’s Bucky.

Steve picks it up.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, his voice low and worried and…

Coming from across the room.

Steve can’t even breathe. “Steve?” Bucky asks again, probably hearing the way that Steve is mildly hyperventilating. “Buddy, you okay?”

Part of Steve wants to run, because there’s no way that the guy looking worriedly at the wall and talking into his phone is ever gonna like Steve after getting a look at him. But Steve’s always been too hard-headed for his own good, so he responds, “No Buck, not really.”

The guy turns around, looks back at Steve. Steve winces, feeling Bucky’s gaze. “No, don’t do that,” Bucky says into the phone. Steve looks back up and he’s grinning. “You never told me you were cute.”

Steve straightens up, raises an eyebrow. “Did you somehow fail to miss—“ but before Steve can list off some of his many flaws, Bucky cuts him off.

“None of that, you’re adorable.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, feeling less and less upset by the moment. “You never said you were hot.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning. “Thought you would’ve inferred it.”

“Not all of us are nerds.”

Bucky looks him from head to toe. “Nope,” he says. “Not all of us are.” Steve feels himself blush, which just makes Bucky grin wider. “Hey,” he says. “Wanna get a cup of coffee?”

Steve swallows, then nods.

Bucky hangs up the phone and walks over. “Hi,” he says, reaching his hand out to shake. “I’m Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet ya.”

So that’s how something else begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna give me a prompt, my tumblr is whtaft.tumblr.com.


	7. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Does "Steve/Bucky h/c" count as a prompt? :D --wintergaydar

Bucky has always looked his best in the snow.

In 1934, pulling Steve’s sorry ass out of the snowdrift that some assholes pushed him into, straining his too-thin, too-small jacket that hasn’t kept up with his growth spurt and his hair slicked back in a new, fashionable style that some of the other guys talked him into. Him pressing Steve into his chest, Bucky trying to get some warmth into Steve’s tiny, brittle bones before he brings him back to his mom’s apartment shivering and wet.

In 1945, on a mountain in the Swiss alps, his all-too-familiar frown softened into something a little gentler as he watches Dernier explain a joke to Gabe across a flickering fire, gentle flakes getting caught in Bucky’s long, dark eyelashes before he tells Steve to go to sleep, that he’ll take the first watch tonight.

And now, in 2016, too.

Steve looks out the window to see Bucky in their backyard. They moved into this house in suburban D.C. a few months ago, after everything had settled down. Things have been okay, so far. And when they’re not, Sam is nearby.

Today seems like a morning where things aren’t so okay.

Bucky is standing out in the early December snow in nothing but his pajamas. No jacket, no shoes, metal arm peeking out from his thin, grey cotton t-shirt. Flakes of snow drift down onto his dark hair. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

Steve pulls on a black t-shirt and a zip up hoodie to go with the sweatpants he sleeps in, heads downstairs and slips his sock-less feet into a pair of brown snow boots sitting by the door. He pauses and grabs Bucky’s boots before heading outside. “Buck,” he says quietly after sliding the patio door shut.

Bucky looks and that’s a good sign, at least. Some days when he gets like this, he won’t move, won’t say a word. “Steve,” he says, quiet against the soft silence that fluffy white snow brings.

“How long’ve you been out here?” Steve asks, hazarding a few slow steps forward. Bucky doesn’t flinch, so he continues until he’s hovering next to him. Close enough to touch, if it were wanted, but far enough that Bucky doesn’t feel threatened.

“The sun came up,” Bucky says.

Steve bites down hard on his lip. He wants to reach out, to touch, to reassure. He wants to scream, to tell Bucky that he’s being stupid. He wants to cry, ask why Bucky didn’t wake him up, didn’t ask for help. But he doesn’t; now isn’t the time for a fight, something that Steve has had to learn the hard way. Instead, he takes a deep breath. “I have your shoes. If you want them.” Bucky looks over and Steve holds the boots out. Bucky takes them, fingers brushing against Steve’s as he does. It feels like a small victory.

Steve watches as Bucky slips the boots onto his feet. “Aren’t you cold?” Bucky asks. “I’m not the one wearing nothing but a t-shirt,” Steve responds, then tacks on, “idiot” to the end, just for good measure.

The corner of Bucky’s lip twitches with amusement. “I like the cold,” he says.

Steve tries not to think of the implications. They stand in silence until Steve feels twitchy and strange. Bucky is so still and Steve can’t imagine how he can stand to be like this, after all those years where he was frozen and defrosted, frozen and defrosted.

“You don’t haveta stand out here,” Bucky says, hazarding a glance at Steve.

Steve shrugs. “Kinda felt like making a snowman anyways.” Bucky keeps looking at him. “We used to do it together. Every winter we’d make one outside outside our building, right in front of Mrs. O’Houlihan’s window, since she didn’t mind it too much.”

He doesn’t ask if Bucky remembers anymore, just explains.

Bucky looks down at the snow, but his expression softens just a bit, so Steve continues on, “We’d always have to make do, could never afford to use a carrot or coal for the snowman’s face, so we’d use sticks or rocks or whatever we could find. You always told me that next year you’d get a big orange carrot for the nose, but we never did.”

There’s a beat, then, “We have carrots. In the fridge. You bought them.” He turns his head, but doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “I could bring one out here.”

Steve grins and when Bucky smiles back, it fills Steve’s cold chest with warmth. “Yeah Buck, that’d be great.”

——

It’s not the world’s most impressive snowman. Bucky’s metal hand has trouble with the texture of the snow, makes it so everything he does is a little lopsided, uneven. But it’s got a big carrot nose, and a smile and eyes made from some blueberries that Bucky grabbed out of the fridge, as well. They put Steve’s hoodie on him.

“That makes him cool,” Bucky explains as Steve argues that he needs a top hat and a scarf. But Steve gives in because Bucky is smiling, really smiling and if that means his hoodie is gonna get a little soggy, then it’s worth it.


	8. Steve's Artistic Muse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve convincing Bucky to build a frame for a photograph or canvas or or a sketch. Basically Steve being an artist/superhero and Bucky being supportive. Headcanon - bucky = steve’s muse. --hawkeye-hawkeye

A few months after they settle in, Steve takes out his sketchpad for what feels like forever. He does something simple, just to warm up his muscles. A little sketch of the living room, of the couch that Bucky picked out from an IKEA catalogue, the table Steve picked up at a little antique shop a few blocks away. Then he puts his sketchbook down because the oven is beeping and he doesn’t want the lasagna to burn.

And he forgets about it.

——

Two days later, Bucky hands him the drawing in a frame.

Steve blinks at it.

It’s just a stupid little drawing, half-done and mediocre at best. But he looks up at Bucky, who is presenting it to him, looking nervous, hand shaking. “Buck, what is this?” Steve asks, taking the drawing from him with careful hands.

“You drew it,” he says, pointedly looking over Steve’s shoulder at the wall. “So it’s important.”

“Bucky, I draw all the time.”

He purses his lips and shakes his head. “No you don’t, not anymore.”He shifts. “I like it,” he says. “When you draw. It… I remember, you at a little table. You were always drawin’.” His voice grows a little softer. “You were happier when you were makin’ art.”

Steve looks down at the framed picture. The frame is smooth and finished in a dark varnish, but it looks homemade. Bucky doesn’t like going to the store, but he must’ve gone and gotten the base materials. Steve holds it a little tighter. “Do you want me to make something for you?”

The corner of Bucky’s lip inches upwards as he shrugs. “Just keep doin’ it, I guess. Is all.”

“Alright,” Steve says. “But you’re going to have to help me.”

——

He teaches Bucky to stretch canvas and Bucky continues making frames. One day Steve comes home to find a whole set of new colored pencils, another day to see a new brand of oil pants, since had been complaining about his old ones the night before. And even though they’re interrupted by Steve’s missions, their small house becomes covered in Steve’s art, hung up piece by piece by Bucky.

And as the plain house becomes more colorful with each canvas, Bucky’s small, quiet smiles become broader and happen more often.

“I’m out of ideas,” Steve says one night at dinner (jambalaya, since Bucky can’t get enough spicy food after seventy years of blandness).

Bucky’s go a bit wide, an open book to what he’s thinking.

“You have any ideas, Buck? Something you want me to make for you?”

Bucky swallows, frowns, then opens his mouth. But nothing comes out. He looks at Steve like he’s struggling, so Steve says gently, “Anything, Buck. I don’t care. I don’t judge.”

Bucky looks down at his dinner. “Maybe,” he begins. “Maybe somethin’ small. Of the two of us. That I could carry with me, in case I. Again.”

And Steve has to reach over, to gently lay his hand over Bucky’s. “Of course,” he tells him and is rewarded with a smile.

——

It’s small, wallet-sized. A water color of the two of them as they are now, Bucky with a small, close-mouthed smile and Steve with an arm wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders, looking down at Bucky like he’s the most important thing in his world. Which he is, whether or not he recognizes it.

Bucky doesn’t say a word when Steve is done, just looks at it for a long time, nods once at Steve before taking the painting upstairs. Steve never sees it again and, well, maybe that’s a good thing.


	9. Bucky Catches a Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How about Bucky catching a cold pre-war and Steve getting to take care of him? --biblionerd07

"You’re… You’re happy that I’m—“ Bucky pauses to hack out a big cough “—sick, aren’t ya?”

“What the hell?” Steve asks, affronted. “Of course I’m not glad you’re sick. You take an extra dose of medicine or somethin’?”

Bucky snorts. “As if we can afford the first dose.” Steve’s face falls. “Hey there, none’a that, bud. I’m fine. Perfectly fine, and if you’d get offa my legs, then I’d be on my way to work…”

Steve crosses his arms, not going to leave his perch from on top of Bucky’s legs until he knows Bucky won’t be able to go to work, consequences be damned. The store owes Bucky a day off, and Steve’d already been down there to negotiate with his boss. Sure, they’d be out of pay, but he promised that Bucky could take two days off and still keep his job. They really like Bucky down at the store—probably because he works himself too hard, but that’s an argument for another day—and Bucky just needs to realize that they’ll be able to float for a couple days. They won’t be able to float if Bucky gets worse.

“No,” Steve responds, firm. He grinds his bony ass onto Bucky’s calves and Bucky groans.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Steve—“ Bucky manages before another fit of coughing starts.

Steve purses his lips; he’s starting to officially get worried. Bucky rarely gets sick, so this bug must really be something. Occasionally something really nasty passes through their area, takes out some kids and some old folks, but Bucky’s big and strong. He shouldn’t be—

“I can see ya worryin’ ‘bout me.” Steve looks away. “But you don’t gotta. Worry ‘bout you catchin’ whatever this is. I don’t want ya to—“

“Shut up, would ya?” Steve’s voice is exasperated and fond as he looks over to Bucky, dark bags under his eyes and cheeks flushed pink. “Not gonna leave you when you’re sick.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine then,” he says. “Well, I guess you’re just gonna havta go get me a glass of water. Maybe some soup, if you can even make it. Can you make soup? I’m so used to makin’ you soup that I’m not sure your stupid brain can—“

Steve swats at Bucky’s leg underneath the blanket. Bucky jerks it up as retaliation, just barely missing some of Steve’s more delicate parts. “I can make soup,” Steve says, almost petulant and Bucky smiles for what seems like the first time in days.

“Then why don’t ya prove it?”

——

It’s cabbage soup—like always—and it tastes terrible, but Bucky eats a big bowl of it and lets Steve put a wet cloth on his forehead to cool him down. Steve tries to read to him, but Bucky’s not the most patient guy in the universe, so they end up just shooting the shit, talking about everything and nothing and making grandiose plans for the future. When Steve’s a little less sick. When Bucky makes a little more money.

And Bucky coughs and the germs spread, but miraculously Steve doesn’t catch whatever this bug is, and when Bucky goes to work the next day—because two days with no pay just isn’t gonna cut it for Bucky—he’s feeling a lot better than he has in a long, long time, even with the sniffles.

So yeah, maybe Steve was a little happy that Bucky was sick. But not for the reasons Bucky thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can request something at whtaft.tumblr.com. Or you could follow me. That'd be cool, too.


	10. Jumping Off the Helicarrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: stucky prompt- the avengers are all on a mission and bucky's there, and right before steve leaps out of a plane, bucky pulls him into a kiss and says something like "don't do anything stupid" and the avengers are all staring and natasha says "everyone pay up when we get back" bc she just knows. --iamspookygroot

“Roger that,” Steve says into his headpiece, then turns to Natasha. “Jump is in t-minus two minutes.”

She nods, curt. “Got it,” she says, readying herself for action.

They’re somewhere over Venezuela, getting ready to take out one of the last HYDRA bases that is still operating at full capacity. They’re not entirely sure what to expect after the drop; their intelligence has given them nothing but radio silence for the past two days. Natasha expects the worst. Steve knows that sometimes miracles can happen.

Speaking of which, Bucky’s voice comes over the comms. “You got a parachute, Captain?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know I don’t need one, Buck.”

“ _Captain_ , you know it’s not protocol to go out without—“

“Since when have I given a damn about protocol?”

Natasha smirks, making sure her own parachute is attached correctly. “You worried about him, Barnes?”

“‘Course I am,” he says. The door to the cockpit opens up and Bucky steps out. He’s been flying their helicarrier from place to place, working as a pilot while he’s still being okay-ed to go into the field. So far, he’s been great. Maybe a bit more of a worrywart than he should be, but—

“Well howdy doody,” Natasha says, dripping sarcasm. “If you’re here, and he’s here, then who’s flying the plane?”

“Autopilot,” Bucky responds, eyes trained only on Steve. “Now where the hell is your parachute?”

“Nonexistent.” Bucky is way too paranoid. It was only a broken rib last time, and it was almost healed by the time he got back onto the helicarrier. “C’mon Buck, we’re running out of time and there’s other stuff I’d rather be talking about.”

Because if something were—not that it would, but it may—happen down there, he doesn’t want the last thing he remembers of Bucky to be his scowling face, hair tied back in a short ponytail and wearing his black leather uniform, metal arm peeking out of the long sleeve.

“Like what?” Bucky asks, stiff and still angry.

So Steve takes a few long strides, closes the space between them and kisses him smack on the mouth.

He feels Bucky relax all at once and feels the cool metal of his hand on the small of his back, cold enough that he can feel it through the fabric of his uniform. He needs to ask Tony about that, sometime, if he can make the arm a little warmer somehow. But right now all Steve wants to think about is the way that Bucky’s mouth feels on his, new but not unfamiliar, a blessing of their second lives that Steve hadn’t dared dream of during their first.

And then there’re voices in his comm. “Black Widow to Hawkeye, you there, Clint?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You owe me $20.”

“Why this time?”

“Two dinosaurs are making out in here and it’s taken them about long enough.”

Clint snorts and Steve pulls away, blushing. He had forgotten that, well, nobody knows. Or knew. Guess that cat’s out of the bag.

“If you two’re done mooning over each other,” Natasha continues, still smirking like a cat that got the cream. “We’ve got about ten seconds before we’re supposed to jump out of this plane and cut off HYDRA’s last head.”

Steve takes a step towards the open doors, but is stopped by Bucky tugging him back for a quick kiss and a shove in the arm. “I’m gettin’ you a parachute,” he says. “Even if I gotta glue it to your back, this is the last time you jump off somethin’ without one.”

“Sure,” Steve replies.

“Love you, punk.”

“Back at you, jerk.”

And then he jumps.


	11. Bartender AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stucky: I'm here for a date and maybe got stood up so I'm heavily drinking at this bar and you're the bar tender concerned for my well being --anon

The guy taps the bar, fingers beating a pattern into the worn wood. For about an hour he nursed a single rum and Coke, switching hopeful glances from the door down to his phone and back.

Now on hour three, he’s got six drinks in him and an antsy expression on his face.

Then he’s beckoning Steve over, grimacing, but his blue eyes are piercing.

“Gimme another,” he says.

“Maybe you’ve had enough…” Steve offers, not wanting to piss him off because:

1\. He’s absolutely, amazingly gorgeous and

2\. He’s got about sixty pounds on Steve and those pounds probably consist entirely of muscle mass. Steve has been a bartender for about a year and a half now and he hasn’t gotten beaten up on the job yet, so he’d like to try to keep it that way.

Thankfully, the guy doesn’t look pissed off; he just slumps with a pouty look on his face. “You tryin’ to ruin my night?”

Steve sighs and fills up a glass with water, which he sets in front of the guy. “Just trying to make sure you get home in one piece.” He pauses. “You get stood up?” He’s seen the look before. Hell, he’s seen the look just about every night he’s on shift. There’s always somebody.

The guy slumps even more. “He didn’ even text me,” he mumbles before grabbing the water. It sloshes a little over the edge, but he makes it to his mouth okay, draining half of it in one go, burping gently as he sets the glass back down. He straightens up, looks Steve straight in the eye. “Is it ‘cuz I cut my hair?” he asks, self-consciously reaching up the side of his head.

“I think your hair looks pretty okay,” Steve says, a little sarcastic so the guy doesn’t figure out that Steve thinks that his hair is more than pretty okay. Way more. It’s got an old fashioned vibe to it, longer on top and shorter on the sides, but the guy pulls it off pretty well. Well enough that Steve is feeling a bit nervous as the guy rakes his eyes up and down Steve’s tiny body before settling back in his chair with a flirty sort of grin.

“You do now? Pretty okay?”

Steve hides his blush by handing the guy a menu. The bar is attached to a pretty decent restaurant, the kind of place where guys with cash take their dates. “Here,” he says. “Get something in yourself to soak up all that poison.”

The guy doesn’t even bother looking at the menu, he just keeps looking at  _Steve_  with this little dreamy expression and it really has to stop. Steve glances around the bar but—because it’s getting late and this restaurant doesn’t have much of a bar crowd on a Tuesday—there’s no one else there for him to pay attention to. Only this guy, who went from drunkenly peeved to flirty in about .02 seconds and who is  _smirking_  at Steve as he asks, “What d’you suggest?”

“For you right now?” The guy nods, resting an elbow on the table and leaning his head on his hand. “Let’s keep it simple. A burger?”

The guy looks contemplative for a second, then nods. “Sounds good,” he says, then pauses. “I’m Bucky.”

“Steve,” Steve replies, grabbing the menu from Bucky’s sloppy grip.

Bucky grins. “Do I gotta be sober to ask you to get coffee?”

Steve furrows his brow. “No, I mean, I’ve got a pot back here, so—“

“No silly, I mean coffee with you  _on a date_.”

Steve is sure that he turns as pink as the Shirley Temple he just made for the girl at table 6, but Bucky just looks at him with wide, blue eyes and a full smile.

“Lemme get you that burger,” Steve mumbles. “See if you change your mind after you’ve sobered up.”

Steve turns around, takes a step away, but Bucky calls, “I don’t think so and…” He pauses and Steve just has to look over his shoulder. “I’d like that burger with an extra pickle.” His eyes look up and down Steve’s tiny body and linger for a moment on—

Steve exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, then heads back to the kitchen.

(And when Steve gets back and Bucky sobers up, Bucky hands Steve his phone number on a paper napkin, tells him that he was forward, yeah, but that he thinks Steve is pretty cool, so if he wants to—no pressure—hang out some time, Bucky’d be pretty cool with it. Steve’d be pretty cool with it too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm taking fic requests in the inbox of my tumblr: whtaft.tumblr.com!


	12. First Kiss in the Great Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ummmm maybe for a stucky prompt about them as teenagers during the Great Depression? --kamalacarter

Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, hoping that he’s getting whatever may be left on there from Elna McClintock’s sloppy mouth a few minutes ago. He’s barreling up the steps to Steve’s apartment with a freshly picked—well, freshly stolen, but nobody’s gotta know that—daisy in his hand. He rapts on the door twice, which is enough for Mrs. Rogers to open it a moment later, looking unsurprised. “Bucky Barnes,” she says, reaching out and rubbing—aw, crap—some more lipstick from the corner of his lip. “Looks like you’ve been up t’ no good, you little rascal.” Sarah moved to the states when she was twelve, but she still has traces of her Irish brogue.

Bucky smiles sheepishly, holding up the daisy. “For you,” he says.

Mrs. Rogers narrows her eyes. “Where’d you get a nice thing like that with your pa’s salary?”

Meaning, the big pot of nothing that his dad brings back from the bar with him.

Bucky shrugs, half-smirking. “Found it,” he says. He pushes it a bit closer to her. “Saw it and thought of you. Pretty flower for a beautiful woman.”

Mrs. Rogers rolls her eyes. “Yer pretty words won’t work on me, sonny.” She pauses, then reaches over and grabs the flowers from Bucky’s fingers. “But Lord have mercy, it’s been a long time since a man brought me anythin’ but grief, so I’ll take what I can get.”

Bucky’s smile fades. “Steve sick again?” he asks. 

Mrs. Rogers nods. Steve looks like her, shares her slight build and weak lungs. They’re both blond, but his mother’s eyes are dark brown where Steve’s are a clear blue. The eyes are from Mr. Rogers, Mrs. Rogers once confided in Bucky after a glass of good Irish whiskey. She’s glad Steve has them, but sometimes they hurt for her to look at. “He took a walk with me down to the bank yesterday. He’s been holed up coughin’ since then, though he’s been quiet for the past hour or so. Just feverish.”

“Can I…” Bucky begins, then swallows hard.

“You stayin’ the night?” Mrs. Rogers asks.

Bucky can’t meet her eyes.

“The girls somewhere safe?”“Dropped ‘em off at Mrs. McClintock’s.” Got a goodnight kiss from Elna McClintock, too, but he doesn’t tell Mrs. Rogers that part of the story.

Mrs. Rogers nods once, satisfied. She’s offered time and time again to let the girls stay with her, but she works so hard and they can be a handful. Mrs. McClintock’s got three girls of her own and a husband who works as a clerk downtown. They’re used to the noise and can spare a few extra suppers now and again, when the Barnes kids need to get away for a night or two.

“Well, come on then,” she says, opening the door wide enough that Bucky can slip inside. She latches the door behind him. “Have you eaten?” she asks, but Bucky is already headed towards the door that leads to Steve’s room.

“‘M fine,” he responds as she mutters something about being skin and bones behind him. He ignores her and knocks softly. “Steve?” he asks, quiet. “It’s Bucky.”

There’s a moment of quiet, then. “Get in here, y’knobhead.”

Bucky chuckles and opens up the door. Steve is sitting upright in his bed, pillow against the headboard with a book in his lap. The small, flickering lamp that he keeps on his bedside table doesn’t do much, just casts shadows that makes Steve’s gaunt cheeks and thin ribs—showing through his white undershirt—stand out more than usual. He looks like he’s about eight, even though he turned fifteen last month.

He’s also just about the best thing Bucky’s ever seen in his entire life. It doesn’t change, this pang he feels whenever he walks into a room and Steve is there. Bucky doesn’t know what to call it, couldn’t even really describe it if someone asked him to. All he knows is that he just wants to be near Steve, no matter what’s going on, no matter where he is. Just wants to be nearby.

“What’re you doin’ readin’ in light like this?” Bucky asks, moving over to sit on the edge of Steve’s bed. He reaches out grabs the heavy book from Steve’s lap. He doesn’t bother to check what it is; it’s probably some novel he’s never heard of and is never gonna read. “Gonna strain your eyes and have to get big, ugly glasses.”

“Shut up,” Steve retorts, reaching for the book, but Bucky keeps it out of his grasp.

“Don’t need it now that I’m here,” Bucky says, shutting the book and putting it on the nightstand. “‘M much more entertaining’.”

“More obnoxious, more like,” Steve replies, rolling his eyes but scooting to the edge of his bed.

Bucky is almost too big to fit, but they manage. The past year has been strange but good to Bucky. He’s stretched out, filled in a bit in ways that Steve can’t seem to catch up to. Bucky looks down at Steve’s thin ribcage beneath his shirt and wonders what it would feel like to touch it, to run his fingers along the taught skin between each protruding bone.

Bucky shakes his head. His mind’s all screwy from the stuff with his pa. Needs to think straight, is all.

“Something wrong?” Steve asks, relaxing against Bucky’s side.“Nah,” Bucky responds. “Just thinkin’ about the girls.”

“One of those nights?” Steve frowns as Bucky nods. “They gonna be okay?”

Bucky throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders, hoping he can warm Steve up a bit. His ma said he was feverish, but he feels almost chilled underneath Bucky’s touch. “Remembered to grab Molly’s teddy on the way out. The other two’re used to it enough that they can handle a night away.”

There’s a pause, then: “Glad you come here,” Steve mutters against Bucky’s shoulder. “Glad you’re safe.”

Bucky chuckles, lets his thumb move to the tender, white skin of Steve’s neck, rubbing tentative little circles against his skin. “Always gonna be right here, Stevie.” The old nickname comes out without thought in the dim light. “Who else is gonna keep you outta trouble?”

“Still,” Steve says, looking up. Their faces are close, Steve’s eyes wide and blue like the sky. “Glad you’re here.”

And all at once it’s too much.

The kiss is slow and lingering. It’s nothing like the way he kissed Elna McClintock, handsy and frantic. Bucky’s heart is thudding in his chest and he can feel the blood pumping through his veins, the way that Steve’s hair sticks up on the back of his neck. And when he pulls away Bucky is breathing heavily, some voice in the back of his mind wondering if this is what Steve feels like when he has an asthma attack, but knowing that this? This is so much better.

“Not leavin’,” Bucky says, unable to look away from the hopeful look in Steve’s eyes. “Not now. Not ever.”


	13. Greg the HYDRA Goon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: If you are still up to taking prompts: HYDRA didn't use Bucky just for external hits. As the Fist of Hydra, he was also used for internal discipline, to punish anybody not toeing the line. Basically, he's the bogeyman under the HYDRA agents' beds. In the chaos after DC, nobody realized that the Fist has gone AWOL and nobody is controlling him any more. Steve and Bucky find a way to make that work for them, to bring the chaos and destruction to HYDRA and take them out. -- andarthas-web

The first time it happens, the guy literally pees his pants.

Steve isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but Bucky rounds the corner with a machine gun in his hands and the HYDRA goon—who had actually been holding his own against Steve pretty well—stops, stares and pees his pants.

“Um,” Steve says, watching this go down.

Bucky just walks up to the guy, stares him straight in the eye and says, “Boo.”

It’s real easy to arrest the guy once he’s passed out.

——

At the debriefing Bucky just shrugs. “You really think that they only used me on outsiders?”

And while that sends a cold shiver down Steve’s spine, it also gives him an idea.

——

The next HYDRA base they’re scheduled to break is near Chicago. “You wanna go see the Art Institute when this is over?” Steve asks Bucky.

Bucky shrugs. “Whatever you want,” he says. “I’m easy.”

Steve can see the cold set to Bucky’s eyes, the way his shoulders are hunched. “It’ll be nice,” he says. “We’ll go when we’re done.”

Bucky snorts. “Hope they’ve got late hours.”

“It’s Thursday,” Steve says, grinning. “They’re open ’til 8.”

“Well then,” Bucky replies, actually giving Steve a small smile. “Guess we’ve gotta get movin’.”

——

Steve barrels in first, knocking an agent unconscious with his shield while blocking a bullet from another. On his left, Sam kicks an agent, who then knocks into two more on his way down, leaving the lot of them in a flailing pile of limbs. As they struggle to get up—HYDRA isn’t on their A-game, these must be the weakest batch of recruits yet—Sam knocks each unconscious with a kick to the head.

And that’s before Bucky saunters in, dark and dangerous, a large gun in his hand and packing on what seems like every other inch of his body. He pauses in the doorway as the HYDRA agents stare with wide eyes. “Drop your weapons,” he says.

For one shaking moment, Steve thinks that they won’t.

Then there’s the audible noise of a couple dozen HYDRA weapons being dropped and one urgent whisper of, “Gary, don’t you know who that  _is_?” before one gun drops belatedly.

——

“So,” Bucky says as he tosses the last agent into a SHIELD van with a thunk. “Art museum?”

Steve grins, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of his best guy. And then swiftly letting go because  _there are knives on his shoulders_. But the grin doesn’t fade. “We’ve got a full four hours if we hustle.”

Bucky leans over and kisses Steve’s mouth, gentle. “Then we should go.”

They walk off to the sounds of one surprised and incarcerated HYDRA agent whispering, “Gary, did you just see who the Asset just  _kissed_?” 


	14. Little Red Riding Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bucky as the big bad wolf and steve as red riding hood --anon

Steve is on a  _mission_  but Bucky keeps distracting him.

“Isn’t that where we used to go for ice cream?” he asks into Steve’s headpiece, which makes Steve pause and look at the decrepit building that once housed Tory’s Ice Cream Parlor, where he and Bucky would always flirt their way into an extra scoop, even if they couldn’t afford it.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says, looking at the crumbling brick. It looks like it was something else for a while, maybe a store of some kind, but right now it’s just a vacant building, no ghosts to even haunt it anymore. “You remember what you always got?”

“Strawberry,” Bucky says, and Steve can almost see Bucky’s lips forming the word in his mouth, a smile on his face. “Strawberry with fudge sauce. And you’d get rocky road.”

“And you’d always end up eating half of mine.”

“Just because you were so puny that you couldn’t even finish two scoops.”

“Hey,” Steve says, starting up again though he loathes to leave a place with such happy memories. “You always grabbed it without asking.”

“Can’t help that I’ve got a sixth sense about when you’re…” He pauses, obviously choosing some word that’ll get Steve all riled up. “Floundering.”

It’s dumb. But it works.

——

“Steve, nine o’clock.”

Steve turns, ready to defend himself, and that’s when he sees the old lady with the biggest poodle the Lord saw fit to put on this planet.

“Ma’am,” he says, gaping at the sheer size of the poodle. It’s hardly a poodle, more of a  _horse_.

The woman grunts and struts away with the poodle.

“Didja see that thing?” Bucky asks, half-laughing.

Steve scowls. “You realize that I’m supposed to be—“

“Working, working, I know. But it wouldn’t hurt ya to stop and smell the roses every so often. You’re gonna end up an old man if you don’t—“

“Bucky, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’m nearly a hundred years old.”

“And yet you can get it up like a—“

“ _Bucky this is an open line_.”

——

By the time that Steve gets to the HYDRA cell, he’s… well, alone.

Actually, not so much alone, just staring at the line of knocked out HYDRA agents all handcuffed and lined up at the side of the room. He looks around confused and nearly misses the man in the Captain America uniform standing in the corner of the room.

For a moment, Steve is on edge, but the man takes off his helmet, revealing a grinning Bucky.

“Oh Captain,” Steve says, sarcastically. “What a shiny arm you have.”

“All the better to hold you with, my dear,” Bucky says, closing the distance between 

“And what blue eyes you have.”

“All the better to gaze at you with.”

“And what an incredible dick you have.”

Bucky’s grin is obscene. “All the better to fu—“

Steve’s lips cut him off for a lingering kiss. “Not in front of the HYDRA goons, Bucky,” Steve says, all false modesty.

Bucky jabs his side. “C’mon,” he whispers.

“No way,” Steve says. “You  _tricked_ me.”

“Just thought you could use a break, babe. Now c’mon and kiss me before these assholes wake-up.”

Well, since Bucky asked…

——

And that’s how half of the remaining heads of HYDRA woke-up from a Winter Soldier-induced slumber to see Captain America groping the Winter Soldier’s butt in his star-spangled hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can inbox me a prompt at whtaft.tumblr.com!


	15. Grindr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stucky: we both got grindr almost as a personal joke to ourselves and because we were lonely, but wow, you're really cool. --Anon

“What’s that?”

Steve shoves his phone in his pocket because how embarrassing would it be for Sam to see the messages from Grindr that’re popping up? It’s not like anybody but Sam or Tony texts him anymore, and Sam is in the room with him and Tony is working.

“Nothing,” Steve says, trying to focus on finishing the edges of the painting he’s working on. He wants to finish it soon, so he can take a picture and send it to—

“Steve,” Sam says, walking around a table and over to Steve’s easel. “C’mon man, you’ve done nothing but stare at that phone for the past three weeks. You’ve either got a serious Kim Kardashian addiction or you’re talking to someone. Which is it?”

“I’m still B-list—“

“Bull,” Sam says. “You and I both know that’s not it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “It’s stupid,” he says.

“Try me,” Sam replies and, okay. Sam’s pretty much the most nonjudgmental guy in the universe, so Steve just sighs.

“His name is Bucky…”

——

Bucky is trying to get Steve to make the first move. Bucky’s been on Grindr for about six months now, and while it’s not his go-to place for hooking-up—he’s hot enough to get by on his charms in real life, thank you very much—he goes on it every so often for fun. That was until he messaged Steve one night.

According to his profile, Steve is over six feet, blond and ripped. Steve is also an artist who likes bulldogs and strawberry milkshakes. And Bucky is so gone on him, it’s stupid.

But the thing is, Steve is so obviously skittish about the whole dating over an app thing and Bucky is afraid to make the first move. He doesn’t want to ask to meet up—or even for his  _phone number_ —and have Steve never message him again. It was hard enough prying Steve’s real name from him.

If that’s his real name. Bucky isn’t sure, since Bucky sounds fake in the first place.

Bucky flops down on the couch in his apartment and groans. “What is it now?” Natasha asks from the kitchen across the room. It’s Bucky’s apartment, but Natasha is almost always there, since she lives two doors down. Recently, she’s been cooking in Bucky’s place since her oven is busted and the landlord won’t do anything about it. “This isn’t about Grindr guy, is it?”

Natasha is way too involved in Bucky’s love life for someone who used to  _be_  Bucky’s love life.

“I just wanna meet up with him. Don’t need to fuck him or anythin’, just wanna get a cup of coffee.”

“Well, when you phrase it like that, I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

Bucky groans again and pulls a nearby pillow over his face. “I just want to see if he’s  _real_.”

Natasha does something in Bucky’s—admittedly rarely used—kitchen that makes a clanking noise. “Well,” she said. “You could try Internet stalking him. If he’s on Grindr he’s probably got a Facebook.”

——

“No Sam, I’m not going to invade Bucky’s privacy like that! It’s not right.”

——

“James, this guy doesn’t even watch  _Game of Thrones_. Are you sure he’s real?”

——

“His Twitter handle is wintersoldier1945. Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”

——

“You said he was an artist, right?” Natasha pauses, pushing her laptop over to Bucky. “This him?”

“Oh shit,” Bucky says, scrolling up and down the page. “He’s got his own Wikipedia page?”

“It lists the address of his studio,” Natasha adds, pushing her hair back behind her ear all casualness. “And I’ve been looking for something new for the apartment.”

——

_Dear Bucky_ , Steve writes into a Facebook message.  _I thought it was really wrong of me, but I couldn’t help but_ —

He shakes his head, erases the message and tries again.

_Bucky, I ended up finding you on—_

But that’s too much of a lie.

He’s about to just delete his Grindr account with the door chimes open and—

“Hey,” Bucky says, a bit shorter than Steve had expected, wearing nice-fitting jeans, a black v-neck t-shirt and a leather jacket over it. His hair is shorter than the shaggy look he had from pictures Steve has seen; it makes him look a little more professional. His blue eyes stand out in the light. Steve can barely breathe.

“Um,” he says. “Hi?”

“I know that this is…” Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Weird and all, but I ended up Googlin’ ya and this place came up and it was gonna be even weirder not lettin’ you know that I know who you are.”

Steve stares for a moment, just enraptured by the look of Bucky in person, the Brooklyn accent that he had mentioned but had never came across on the phone. And then Steve turns around, shuts the laptop closed and grins.

“Hey there,” he says, closing the space between them, pulling an arm around Bucky’s side and bringing him close. “I’m Steve Rogers. It’s great to meet you,” he adds before leaning down and giving him a short, chaste kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I have no idea how Grindr works.


	16. Quiet Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stucky: 'Why are you making all that noise in the hall you idiot, quiet hours started four hours ago' --Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part I of this mini college AU. Part II is the next chapter.

Bucky has had it.

He’s not the sort of guy who gets uptight about this kind of stuff. He doesn’t want to be  _that_  mechanical engineering major, the kind that liberal arts kids scoff at for being an uptight nerd. Because he’s not. They are. Well, everyone has a bit of an uptight nerdy side to them at this place. It’s a university. You should be a nerd to even come here.

But that doesn’t change the fact that his neighbor has been  _blasting_  French Alternative Pop Music for about the past four hours.

Now, Bucky doesn’t know anything about the kid who lives next door. He transferred here this semester and it just so happened that he ended up in the empty room next to Bucky’s. In the two weeks that Bucky’s been back on campus he thinks he’s seen the back of the guy’s head maybe once. He’s short. That’s all he knows. Never came and introduced himself and whenever Bucky thought about coming around, his door was shut.

But now it’s 3 in the morning on a  _Tuesday night_ , Bucky is wiped from a full day of coding and all he wants to do is catch a few blissful hours of sleep before he hits the gym tomorrow morning. Well, technically this morning. But as he lays in his ratty t-shirt and boxers, not even earplugs can drown out the atrocities that his floor mate is blaring. So he pulls himself out of bed, pulls on a pair of jeans and heads out of his room to pound on his neighbor’s door.

The music stops after the third knock and the door opens to…

The smallest college kid Bucky thinks he’s ever seen.

He’s fussing with a pair of thick glasses, pulling them on over red, puffy eyes. He’s got an oversized navy hoodie over his dark jeans and his hair is grown in enough to look scruffy, but not enough to cover the hearing aid he has in his left ear.

It doesn’t take a mechanical engineering major to see that he’s been crying.

“What?” he asks, defensive and obviously uncomfortable.

The righteous anger that had filled Bucky moments before seems to evaporate in an instant. “Your music,” Bucky says, uncertain. “It’s a little loud for three in the mornin’.”

The kid seems to deflate. “Oh,” he says, eyes watery. “I can turn it down.”

“What was that song, three songs back?” Bucky asks.

The guy looks at him like he’s an idiot, a single eyebrow raised. “Huh?”

“The song you were playin’  three songs ago—“ which Bucky doesn’t actually remember a thing about, but he’s got a plan here. “What’s it called?”

“Um, I’ll have to check.”

“Cool,” Bucky responds. The guy—Steve, the name tag on his door helpfully supplies—steps back into his room to the desk where his computer is sitting. Bucky follows him inside. Steve spends a minute looking at something and nearly jumps when he looks back, seeing that Bucky is standing next to him, arms crossed over his chest and door shut behind him. “So?” Bucky asks, feeling sort of creepy for the whole situation.

Steve rattles off some band and song name  _that are in French_  and Bucky doesn’t even try to pay attention to them. Then there’s a pause. “So,” Bucky says. “How’re you likin’ this place? You just transferred, right?”

“Um yeah,” Steve says, looking at his feet. “It’s okay.”

Bucky glances at the wall next to Steve’s desk. There’re a bunch of pictures—all looking like they were rather artfully taken—of Steve, of Steve with friends, of Steve with family, of his friends alone. They all seem so candid and happy; Bucky can’t help but wonder if it’s the same shadowy kid who he’s barely seen since he got here.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, sitting down on the clean edge of Steve’s desk. “What’re you studyin’?”

“Art,” Steve replies, glancing to another wall of his room, which is filled with torn out pages of sketchbooks.

They’re good drawings, a lot of which are of some superhero-looking guy. “You make comics?”

“Maybe,” Steve says with a shrug. He pauses. “What’s your name?”

“Bucky,” Bucky replies, smiling.

“But the thing on your door says James?”

Bucky grins. “Yeah, but everybody I like calls me Bucky.” Steve looks almost taken aback. “You’re Steve, right?” He nods. “Cool. I’ll remember that.”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “About the music. I didn’t realize it was so loud.”

Bucky shrugs. “Water under the bridge now. But now that I’m awake I think you gotta entertain me.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his baggy hoodie. “Yeah?” he asks. “How?” all challenging and Bucky begins to see the guy from the photos in this little twerp.

“Maybe,” he says. “You should tell me a thing or two about yourself.”

——

Bucky wakes-up feeling almost hungover in an unfamiliar bed, arm wrapped around an unfamiliar guy before he remembers his late night in Steve’s room, laughing and eating popcorn as Steve tried to explain how he got kicked out of the Met one time when he started lecturing some staff about how the collections should be kept. He remembers the way Steve’s eyes lit up when Bucky talked about seeing a traveling Magritte exhibit, how Steve was excited to hear Bucky’s opinions like they actually mattered, even though Bucky knows nothing about art.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep too well, or when Steve climbed into bed with him. And he definitely doesn’t remember basically spooning into Steve, putting an arm around his chest and pulling him in close.

Bucky hastily removes his arm, which makes Steve kind of half-whimper. He looks up at the electric clock Steve’s got on his desk. 8:53. There goes his morning work-out. Yet, he somehow only managed to get three hours of sleep.

And he looks at Steve’s still sleeping body, wrapped up in his hoodie and thinks that it was worth it for this new friend. Or, maybe not friend. Maybe something more.


	17. S'mores Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stucky: the RA made me come to this function. --Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II of the mini college AU!

Sam Wilson is the best Residential Advisor Bucky’s ever had, which is the  _only_  reason that he ends up at Sam’s s’mores event on a Friday night. It’s supposed to be an alcohol-free social alternative, but these events usually just end up with the two of them sitting there for an hour and shooting the shit. They’re in an upperclassmen hall and not many of their peers are interested in spending their Friday nights sober, especially not with their RA.

So Bucky is just walking into the dorm lounge—it’s microwave s’mores this time, since it’s the end of January—when he notices that he and Sam aren’t alone.

“Oh,” Bucky says, “Hey. Steve.”

Steve is sitting on a couch across from Sam, looking up at Bucky with this half-terrified look on his face, cheeks visibly getting redder by the moment.

Bucky hasn’t seen Steve since the night they met, a little more than a week ago. Bucky’d kept his door open, hoping that Steve would stop by, but it was to no avail. And now, he’s sitting on a ratty couch in an oversized black hoodie, bangs flopping in his eyes. Something tightens in Bucky’s chest.

“Hello to you too, Bucky,” Sam says and it snaps Bucky out of his Steve-induced stupor.

“Shut up, Sam. It’s hard to miss your ugly mug.” Bucky crosses the room and takes a seat on the couch next to Steve, more so that he won’t end up staring at Steve by accident. But when he hazards a glance Steve’s way, Bucky can see him inching towards the other end of the couch and wow, that’s a bit obnoxious for someone who groaned when Bucky tried to stop spooning him the other night.

“Looks like you two are the only ones showing up tonight.” Sam is far too nice to call Steve a loser, like he typically does to Bucky when it’s just the two of them. “You ready for some hot s’mores action?”

“Actually, I think—“ Steve begins, but Sam interrupts.

“Oh hell, I left the chocolate in my room. I’ll be just a minute.” He starts to get up, then pauses. “You two know each other, right?” he asks, all concern.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky says, not meeting Sam’s eye. “We’re acquainted.”

“Cool, I’ll be just a minute You keep each other entertained.”

Then Sam leaves the room too quickly and it’s just he and Steve.

“So,” Bucky starts. “You have a good week?”

“Um,” Steve responds. “I should probably go.”

It’s sorta like being punched in the stomach. “You got some kinda hot date or is this ‘cus of the other night. Because if it’s the first…” Well, Bucky’ll be a bit disappointed, honestly, but… “I’ll understand. But if it’s the latter, then you don’t gotta worry. It doesn’t gotta be a thing. I mean, a thing you gotta worry about.”

“Wait, what does that even  _mean_?” Steve asks.

“What does what mean?”

“‘Doesn’t gotta be a thing,’” Steve asks with a bad impersonation of Bucky’s Brooklyn accent. “That’s so… inarticulate!”

Bucky snorts a laugh and Steve glares. “C’mon, you talk like an octogenarian.”

“That’s probably the biggest word you know, isn’t it?” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“For an art major, you’re a walkin’ thesaurus, y’know that, right?”

“Well, for a mechanical engineer, you speak like a six year-old!”

There’s a pause, and then Bucky has to ask, “Hey. You, uh, wanna watch a movie once this is over? Or somethin’?”

“And interrupt my hot date?” Steve asks, a challenge.

“Well,” Bucky says, moving just a few inches closer to Steve on the couch. “ _I_  could be your hot date.”

Steve’s eyes get wide and they can hear Sam humming as he walks back towards the room. “Yeah,” Steve says, almost breathless. “Sure.”


	18. Must Love Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: HMMMMM something with dogs? One of them is a dog walker or they both volunteer at an animal shelter or something like that? --pogryzc

_Any excuse to write about wiener dogs is a good excuse in my book._

——

Steve started volunteering at an animal shelter after his best girl Peggy died. She was the most beautiful English Springer Spaniel in the world, with curly brown hair and the most beautiful brown eyes. He can’t stand to get a new dog just yet, not when it’s only been six months, but he misses dogs and goes to the shelter on weekends to play with the pups for a bit.

“Hey Steve,” Sharon says, brushing the fur of a surly-looking cat with dark black fur and penetrating green eyes. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” Steve says, hands shoved in his pockets. “You got anything for me to do?”

Sharon’s steady hands pause on the cat’s back. “Well, there’s…” She frowns. “There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

Confused, Steve follows Sharon back to the room where the dogs are kept in small kennels. “He came in a few days ago and, well, we thought of you the moment we saw him.”

“Sharon, you know that I’m not looking to adopt right now. I just can’t think of…”

He trails off when he sees him.

He’s a blond dachshund, long-haired but obviously not yet full grown. When he sees Steve coming, he scurries to the back of his kennel, looking up at Steve with wary brown eyes. “He’s shy,” Sharon explains. “His home wasn’t a very happy one.”

“What’s his name?” Steve asks.

Sharon grins. “Captain,” she says.

And Steve is sold.

——

Steve had gotten Peggy from the shelter after his second tour in Iraq. She had been with him on the bad nights, the times he woke-up screaming. Her loving eyes and warm body helped ground him in the United States, reminded him he was safe in Brooklyn and helped him recover from the terrible things he had seen overseas. Now, as he takes a shivering Captain into his carrier for the short walk back to his apartment, Steve can’t help but think that he’s helping another captain like Peggy helped himself.

——

Captain—Cap, for short—wasn’t abused, just wasn’t treated with much love or care. It takes a few weeks for him to warm up to Steve, another couple to get used to Steve’s brownstone. Walks around the neighborhood are sometimes fraught as loud cars make Cap jumpy and kids wanting to pet him absolutely terrify him, but after a while Cap gets used to that, too.

Which is why, one quiet Tuesday morning, Steve decides that it’s time to head to the dog park.

It’s important for dogs to socialize and Steve knows that the occasional run in with Mrs. Townsend’s French boxer isn’t enough for Captain.

Cap is in a good mood that morning, doesn’t even fidget as Steve puts on his vest and attaches his leash to it. They walk the few blocks to the nearest dog park, Peggy’s favorite. Steve keeps Cap on his leash for a bit, walking him around the perimeter of the park just to get used to things.

But then Captain sees the pumpkin.

It must be some sort of schtick set up for October by the Park District, because there are pumpkins all over the park, which the few dogs there are playing with. But Cap imprints on one that’s just perfectly sized for his oblong body to fit over. And he does just that, sitting on the pumpkin and claiming it for his own.

Steve laughs, snaps a picture on his phone that he sends to Sharon and a few other friends, before sitting down nearby just to watch Cap play with the pumpkin.

Ten minutes later, Cap has taken to rolling it around with his nose, trying to bring it over to show Steve, when another dog comes bounding up, tongue lolling and tail wagging. He’s probably a mutt, thin but tall with shaggy brown fur. It spooks Cap, who lets out a little bark before abandoning the pumpkin and running to Steve, jumping onto his lap and curling up. The dog, obviously smart enough to realize that he scared Cap away, starts nosing the pumpkin towards the two of them, almost apologetic. Cap watches the dog warily, but is curious enough to climb out of Steve’s lap and sniff the other dog’s butt.

Steve would keep watching, but moments later a man comes running up, muttering under his breath. “Jesus Dum Dum, what sorta trouble’d you get yourself in?”

“Dum Dum?” Steve asks, eyebrow raised as he half watches Captain yip and butt his nose into Dum Dum’s leg.

The man shrugs. He’s got longish, deliberately anti-army regulation hair pulled back into a knotty ponytail at the back of his hair. His eyes are large and blue, his jaw strong. It takes Steve a moment to realize that while one hand is holding a leash, the man’s left sleeve is completely empty. “Um,” the guy says, obviously giving Steve the same once-over Steve gave him. “I didn’t name it. Buddy of mine did, then we got ourselves blown up. Left me the dog to take care of.” He seems to notice how personal that got so quickly and goes a bit red. “Sorry ‘bout that, I just…” He trails off, looking embarrassed, which Steve just can’t have.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replies. “A buddy of mine at the VA had the same thing happent o him, but with a mean old cat named Nick. Seems like Dum Dum’s friendly, at least.” In one of the few shows of social bravery he’s seen from Cap, Cap is climbing onto the pumpkin again while Dum Dum pants in appreciation. Steve reaches a hand out to the man. “Steve Rogers,” he says, “And the little guy is Captain.”

The man drops the leash before bending down to shake Steve’s hand. “Bucky Barnes.” He grins. “It’s a pleasure.”

“All mine,” Steve says, relishing Bucky’s firm grip and warm smile.

That is until Cap falls off the pumpkin with a small yip, rolling onto his side and into Bucky’s feet. He yips again at the contact with the stranger and makes his way back to Steve, but Dum Dum—obviously on his way back to Bucky—gets in the way. Cap, not to be deterred from his target, continues under Dum Dum’s stomach, confusing Dum Dum who looks up at Bucky dumbfounded. A little stressed and panting, Cap makes his way back onto Steve’s lap, burrowing his head into the folds of Steve’s t-shirt. Steve rests a reassuring hand on his back, stokes up and down his long body a few times to comfort him.

“It’s his first time at the dog park,” Steve explains.

Bucky grins, his hand on Dum Dum’s head. “Hope it won’t be his last.”

Cap looks up at Steve, but Steve is just grinning dumbly at Bucky. “Y’know, I think he may just come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English cream dachshunds are the reason why I wake-up in the morning.


	19. (Captain) America's Next Top Model

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Prompt: top model, either they're both contestants or someone is a judge or just somethingggggg please <3 --n0tdrunk

“C’mon, lemme see what you got,” Bucky Barnes says, angling his camera this way and that as Steve poses. It’s a formal wear challenge close to the end of the competition and Steve really needs to keep his head in the game. But right now his mind has to be on nuns and dying puppies—anything to keep him from getting a hard-on in the middle of a photo shoot.

This isn’t usually a problem for Steve. Yeah, he’s got a healthy libido but it usually doesn’t go off at such utterly inappropriate moments. It’s just that from the moment Tyra announced that Bucky Barnes would be photographing the contestants Steve knew that this would be trouble. Not only is Barnes one of the most amazing fashion photographers in the business, but he’s also… Well, he’s just Steve’s type. Rugged and handsome with a strong chin, jaw-length hair messy and usually pulled back at the nape of his neck. He showed up to the shoot in dark skinny jeans and a black leather jacket, so worn that Steve is sure that it would feel like silk underneath his fingertips. He itches to touch it. He itches to touch  _him_ , to trace the curve of his red lips with his index finger, to press his thumb into his full bottom lip, to slip it inside his mouth and feel his tongue on the pad of—

Steve literally  _trips_  as he shifts his pose, flailing like a lunatic and only just catching himself on the polished wood of the bar that he’s posing at.

A few of the crew members cackle and Steve blushes viciously, visible even under the make-up he’s wearing. He hazards a quick glance at Bucky, who is smiling, but isn’t malicious. “Hey,” Bucky says before Steve can glance away, “C’mere.”

Oh no. This is probably the point where Steve gets kicked off the set, off the show and—

Bucky rolls his eyes and closes the distance between the two of them. He is standing very,  _very_  close. “You’re thinkin’ too much,” he says, quiet, so the crew won’t hear. That doesn’t, of course, stop the invasive camera from getting up into their faces to record every moment of the most embarrassing conversation of Steve’s life. “I dunno what’s goin’ on in that noggin of yours, but you gotta block it out.” Steve finds himself nodding along, trying not to feel the warmth of Bucky’s breath on Steve’s cheek when he speaks. 

Ignore what’s in your brain, ignore what’s in the room. It’s just you, me and this camera and your job? It’s to seduce this camera. You’re a sexy guy wearing sexy designer clothes. Sell them to me, sell  _yourself_  to me.”

“Alright,” Steve says, throat dry.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Is it? I’ve seen your other stuff, Rogers. That boy next door look that you got? It’s good for a lotta stuff, but the kinda guy who wears that suit and sits in this bar ain’t gonna help a grandma with her groceries. Sell it. Sell yourself.”

Steve nods and Bucky gives him a half-smile as he steps back.

And when Bucky turns his camera back to Steve, well, Steve tries his best.

——

When Tyra calls him up and puts his picture on the screen, Steve can barely recognize himself.

“All I can say is wow,” Tyra tells him. “You went from American sweetheart to American hottie. But maybe even more important, Bucky spoke highly of your professionalism and use of direction while simultaneously taking the shoot in a direction that worked for you. After an initial bit of feedback, you took that shoot and went for broke. And it shows. Plus, of all the contestants, Bucky says he’d most like to work with you again.” There’s a pause. “And he gave me his phone number to give to you.”

Steve blushes a deep red, but in a few weeks when he leaves with runner-up status, the first thing Steve does is call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know much about ANTM to be honest.


	20. The President and the Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve and Bucky as an english professor and the president of a small liberal arts college --passthecocaine

It’s Steve’s first night on campus when he sees him.

After a long day of unpacking, Steve decided to just take a walk. It’s quiet here, during those awkward few weeks in August between the summer students leaving and the regular term students arriving. The provost—Natasha—told him that it’s these weeks that are always the hottest, the quietest. But it’s a good time to get to know the campus, to meet the dedicated professors who brave the Indiana summer heat and don’t retreat for somewhere nicer, beachier or cooler during the hot weeks between summer school and term starting.

It’s dusk and the cicadas are chirping like the cliché of the midwestern college dream when Steve heads towards the Victorian-era house that houses the Creative Writing classes.

He’s stopped because sitting on a wooden bench on the porch of the house is one of the most effortlessly attractive men Steve has ever seen.

The man has a smoking cigar in one hand, a dog-eared copy of The Remains of the Day in his other. He seems engrossed in the book, not even noticing that Steve has stopped and started gaping at him. He’s got on a worn blazer made of a soft brown corduroy, a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans along with a pair of scuffed white sneakers. He’s got longish hair, pulled back into a messy knot at the nape of his neck. Everything about him oozes academic sex appeal, from the five o’clock shadow to the way his eyes linger on the pages. This is the sort of man that Steve—very, very secretly—imagined he’d have an affair with when he was a naive undergrad.

And he’s sitting on the porch of a building in the college that Steve now runs.

Steve can smell trouble.  
——

He doesn’t introduce himself, not wanting to break the spell of his initial sight, but he does ask Natasha about him the next day.

“He was sitting on the porch of Robarts House, reading and smoking a cigar?” he asks, ripping the tape off the top of a cardboard box full of books. Natasha is leaning against the wooden desk in his new, presidential office. He’s got a great view of the grassy quad outside of his window, which he’s sure he’ll be less excited about when the students arrive and there are a lot more drunken escapades occurring outside the window. But right now, he’s happy to be there.

She smirks. “Oh, that’d be James Buchanan Barnes.”

Steve pauses in his unpacking. “Really?” he asks.

Barnes is one of the reasons why Lenyon College is doing as well as it is now. The notable young author had decided to give back to his alma mater after his second critically-loved book was published—at age twenty-five, no less—and come back to the college to teach creative writing. In the past four years he’s developed quite the applicant pool for the college, yuppie Brooklynites who want to learn gritty realism from a real life master. He’d been on sabbatical for the second half of the last year, which is why Steve never met him during the application process for the presidency.

“He’s a bit of a character,” she explains. “But he’s a good guy when it comes down to it.”

Steve looks down at the box, filled with the books that have made him who he is today. And his eyes linger on his own dog-eared copy of The Remains of the Day. “I’ve heard he is.”

“Oh,” she mentions, lifting up a bobble on his desk. “Call him Bucky. He’ll hate you if you don’t.”

“Duly noted.”

——

They talk for the first time at a dinner hosted for Steve by a group of trustees.

He’s had his saturation of the well-dressed, urban trustees who’ve come all the way out to their alma mater in Indiana to gawk at the new President. Of course, there’re a few that Steve already knows from the Presidential Search Committee, but the rest of the people are an endless stream of new faces and well-tailored clothing.

So he slips out before dessert to go to the restroom.

He walks in and there is Bucky Barnes, pissing into a urinal.

Steve attempts to keep his cool as he goes to another urinal and he definitely does not stare. Even though he kind of wants to.

Bucky, however, seems content to ignore him, finishing up his business and heading to the sink to wash his hands. Just as Steve thinks he’s in the clear, Bucky says from the doorway, “This place is always outta paper towels. You’re in charge of the place, you get ‘em to stock ‘em in here, alright?”

And he leaves without another word.

——

The first time they fuck is a few weeks later.

Steve isn’t officially inaugurated as College President until a ceremony in October, and after the pomp and circumstance, there’s an Inaugural Ball for the whole campus to participate in. Trustees and students are dancing together on an impromptu dance floor set up in the palatial dining hall while a Beatles cover band plays. Everyone is well-dressed (for once; Steve noticed very early on that the students at Lenyon tended to dress in ways that completely befuddled Steve’s more traditional fashion sense) and the students are greedily gobbling up the free food and champagne.

Steve notices early on that as the man of the hour, his glass is never empty. He doesn’t mind it so much at first. The day was long and stressful; Steve’s glad for a bit of relief.

That is until people start flirting.

Steve is notoriously bad with both men and women. You’d think as a conventionally attractive bisexual man he’d have some kind of authority in flirtation, but he really just turns red and falters, unable to speak his way out of a bucket, as it were. Usually it’s not so much a problem: people get that he’s an inarticulate doofus and generally leave him alone after a try or two, but apparently being the young, single President of a selective midwestern liberal arts college has upped his value a bit and people keep coming up to him, trying to flirt their way into a dance and Steve can’t really handle this, especially since he’s much drunker than he probably should admit.

He’s trying to deflect a trustee with platinum blonde hair and pearls when Bucky saunters over and throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

Bucky is definitely not dressed for the formality of the occasion, wearing a variation of the same outfit he wears every day: blazer, t-shirt, jeans and sneakers (not that Steve is paying attention). It’s like a breath of fresh, collegiate air amongst the formality of the suits and dresses that inhabit the usually casual dining hall.

“Hey buddy,” he says, then turns to the trustee. “Mind if we have a minute?”

She smiles, obviously knowing who Bucky is and not wanting to piss him off before bidding Steve farewell and walking off. Steve visibly sags with relief, which just makes Bucky chuckle. “You not used to the winin’ and dinin’, Mr. President?”

“Steve,” Steve corrects. “And no, I can’t say I am.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Bucky says, grinning. His face is so close to Steve’s, radiating a sweet heat that Steve could lose himself in. “You’ll get used to it.” He pauses, scrutinizing Steve’s face. “You drunk?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head a little too vigorously, which just makes him lose his balance and fall a bit onto Bucky.

Who is smirking. “You are drunk,” he says, poking Steve’s side. When Steve opens his mouth to protest, Bucky just shakes his head. “No use denyin’ it, but you better get outta here before somebody important calls you a lush. Wouldn’t want you losin’ your job already, would we?”

“Um,” Steve says.

“Lemme take you home and make you some eggs. Least I can do for our new President.”

The thought of seeing the inside of Bucky’s home—conveniently located near to the dining hall; one of the perks of a small campus—is too much for Steve to pass up. “That’d be great,” Steve responds, excitement sobering him up by the moment.

——

Truth be told, the inside of Bucky’s small house is unsurprising. He’s got shelves and shelves of books, piles of books by the chairs and on the sofa. There’re a few framed photos of New York City, but Steve is so distracted by all of the books that they barely even register.

“So,” Bucky says, setting a plate of quickly whipped up scrambled eggs in front of Steve along with a glass of tall water. “You gonna quit?”

“Huh?” Steve asks, ignoring the eggs and going straight for the water. The champagne seems to be running right through him and the brisk walk back to Bucky’s place in the crisp autumn air sobered him up considerably. He takes a long pull of his drink, watching Bucky smirk from the other side of the table.

“I mean, it’s gonna be like that at every event. Successful guy, room full of single people. Surprised there weren’t students throwing themselves at ya, but give it time. They just need to get to know you a lil’ better.”

Steve puts the glass down slowly. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’ve been there right with ya, buddy.” He pauses, then adds. “Never touched an undergrad, if you’re wondering’.”

“I wasn’t,” then Steve admits, “Well, maybe I am now.”

“Just wanna keep my job, is all.” He chuckles. “But it’s gonna be hard for you, what with bein’ the country’s most eligible college president and all. Doesn’t help that you’re the hottest thing to grace this campus since, well, me.”

Steve blushes a deep red and pokes at his eggs.

“Aw, c’mon,” Bucky says. “You ain’t embarrassed, are ya? Because lemme tell you, you get used to the attention.”

“Embarrassed isn’t the word,” Steve mutters and shit. He must be drunker than he thinks he Is.

Bucky’s head pops up. “You angry?”

And then a stupid surge of courage flows through Steve. “No,” he says, staring straight at Bucky. “Not at all.”

Bucky smirks. “Prove it.”

Let’s just say that Steve’s eggs went untouched, still sitting there the next morning when Steve woke-up with Bucky sprawled on top of him, a pile of books next to his bed.


	21. Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hi, can I ask for an AU where B and S are together for a few months but S thinks B doesn't like him that much so he decides to break up with B but B just becomes really shy because he's likes S so much he doesn't know what to do and when S says he wants to break up B cries in front of everyone. Happy ending please? ; w ; --Anon

It started on shaky ground.

Bucky wasn’t the same when he came back from Iraq. Steve knew that when he saw the prosthetic for the firs time. He knew it when he had kissed Bucky, telling him that he had to, just once, that he had thought of nothing but it for the three years Bucky was away. Steve told him that he didn’t expect anything. Bucky told him that he wanted everything.

But it started on shaky ground.  
——

Steve knows Bucky isn’t happy, can feel it in his bones. And Steve doesn’t know what to do about it.

——

“Maybe we just need a break,” Steve says, four months later, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “You can… Figure out what it is that you want.”

Bucky breathes in deep, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Fine,” he says. Then repeats, “Fine,” quieter.

——

Steve takes a commission to work on a mural in California. He’s gone for four months.

——

He manages to avoid Bucky for another month once he gets back, but eventually Natasha insists that he comes to her birthday party, and Steve knows what she can do to someone when she’s angry. So he goes to the bar that she decided on and nearly stops short upon walking in.

There’s Bucky. And he looks good.

The past five months have been kind to him. He’s cut his deliberate antimilitary hair to something shorter and stylish, and the prosthetic Tony designed for him seems to work well, moving and bending with ease underneath his new-looking leather jacket. The bags under his eyes are still there, but look smaller and he’s laughing as Thor tells him something, eyes crinkling up at the corners in a way Steve hasn’t seen in what feels like actual ages.

Something clenches in Steve’s stomach. He didn’t know what he was expecting to see, but it wasn’t this Bucky, looking like the man that he knew five years ago, cocky and happy after basic training, ready to go out and save the world.

And it’s that moment that Bucky catches Steve staring, eyes growing wide and frantic as he looks away. Steve watches him walk over to Natasha, how they talk in hushed voices. If it weren’t for Sam seeing Steve’s world shatter in front of his eyes—okay, yeah, that’s a little melodramatic shut up Sam—and dragging him to the bar, Steve would’ve stepped out then and there and not bothered with the whole thing.

He tries not to stare, but he can’t help but glance to where Bucky and Natasha are quietly but animatedly arguing, even after he has a beer in his hand and his friends have come to say hello. He’s being a downer and he knows it, but it’s been almost six months since he’s seen his best friend—and the love of his life, supplies an unhelpful voice at the back of his head—and he wants to soak in Bucky’s presence for every moment he can. Since he’s sure that he won’t ever get to see him alone again, given the way that Bucky never once reached out to him when Steve was in California. Not that Steve ever reached out to Bucky, either, but that hardly seemed fair.

And then all too sudden, Bucky’s shoulders tense and he whips around, looking Steve square in the eye. And Steve looks intensely at the foam on the top of his beer, which is suddenly the most interesting thing in the entire universe.

“Steve.”

Bucky’s voice opens Steve up raw in ways that he can hardly bare. But he looks up anyways to see Bucky standing next to his barstool, looking uncomfortable and fidgety. Steve wants to kiss away the tension in his furrowed brow, to wrap Bucky up in his long arms and never let him go. But that’s not his place now, and Bucky wouldn’t want it anyway.

“Hey Buck,” Steve manages, impressed at how calm his voice is. “How are—“

“Can we talk?” he interrupts, running his hand through his shorter hair, even though none of it is falling into his face like it used to.

“Uh Buck, maybe now isn’t the right time.”

His eyes widen, momentarily devastated, then they narrow, angry. “Yeah?” he asks. “Now isn’t the right time? Like the past six months haven’t been the right time?” Steve is speechless, just staring as Bucky seems to get more and more worked up. “You said we were takin’ a break, not that you were never gonna call me again.” His voice grows more and more desperate. “You made it sound like I didn’t want to be with you, but Steve, you gotta know that I want to be with you, that I’ve been in love with you since I was ten goddamn years old and that… That if you’re gonna…” His eyes are filling with tears. “You can’t blame it on me, you can’t be a coward and not say that you don’t wanna be with…” His voice cracks as the tears stream down his cheeks. He seems to curl into himself, pressing the sleeve covering his prosthetic up to his eyes to shield his face from onlookers.

Their friends are studiously trying to avoid looking at them—well, except Tony, but Tony is an asshole—but some of the other patrons of the bar openly stare. Glaring at one particularly leery guy, Steve stands up and wraps his arms around Bucky. Momentarily, Bucky tenses, then all at once relaxes, dropping his arm and burrowing his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. Steve rubs circles between Bucky’s shoulder blades, leaning down to say, “I’m sorry Buck, I’m so, so sorry.” He can hear the anguish in his own voice, but doesn’t even try to mask it. “You gotta know how much I love you. I do, I love you, I really do,” he adds when Bucky’s chest seems to heave more, sobs deepening. “I thought you were unhappy with me, Buck. I didn’t want to force you into something you didn’t want to be a part of—“

“Of course I was unhappy,” Bucky adds, moving up from Steve’s neck to glare at him with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I just got back from war. I lost an arm.” His glare falters into a frown and Steve tightens his grip around Bucky’s back. “But it wasn’t with you,” he adds, quiet. “You were the one good thing.”

“Are,” Steve says, “If you can forgive me.”

There’s a pause, and for a brief moment Steve thinks that maybe Bucky won’t say yes, that Steve’s hurt him too badly and that there’s no going back. That maybe nothing will ever be the same between them, that they won’t even be able to be friends, and—

“God yes,” Bucky says, diving back in and finally wrapping his arms around Steve in return. Steve can feel each arm around him: one flesh and warmth, the other metal and hard. He loves them both, just like he loves the shivering man they belong to. They stay like that for a minute, clinging to each other and relishing the feeling.

Then Tony has to ruin it all. “You guys back together?” he calls from across the room.

Steve rolls his eyes and holds on tighter.

“Because if you are,” he adds, “Clint owes me twenty bucks.”

Bucky’s shaking again, and Steve is about ready to murder Tony, but when his head pops up, Bucky is laughing and grinning. A warmth blooms in Steve’s chest. “Pay the man, Barton,” he calls and Steve can’t help but place a kiss on Bucky’s smiling lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always inbox me prompts at whtaft.tumblr.com!


	22. Wedding Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hey! Long time admirer of your writing, first time commenting. I absolutely adore your fics. If you're still looking for fluffy one-shot prompts... Post catws - Bucky has been finding it very difficult to express his emotions/ still can't remember much of his pre-war history. One day Bucky and Steve are attending the wedding of an Avenger (maybe Tony/Pepper? or anyone really) and Bucky starts sniffling. Steve's like - what? why? And Bucky's like - I always cry at weddings... Thank you so much! --sue-denime-blog

Bucky looks good in a tuxedo.

Steve wonders if it’s the first time Bucky’s worn one. He definitely didn’t get to when he and Steve were younger. There was never an occasion that warranted one, and if Bucky absolutely had to, he’d wear his blue suit. There’s a chance that he wore one during those murky years as the Winter Soldier, but he and Steve don’t talk about that, just bake cookies or light up the fireplace on nights where the dreams keep Bucky awake. Some part of Steve wants to hoard this moment, to save it for himself and no one else, but he has to go Tony’s wedding. He genuinely likes Pepper and Tony will never let him hear the end of it if he ditches to stare at Bucky for hours.

Not that Bucky would probably let him stare at him for hours. He looks uncomfortable, newly cut hair slicked back and shoes shined. Steve knows better than anyone that Bucky hates dressing up. It was different when he put on a nice shirt and a pair of slacks for a date, but this penguin suit? Not Bucky’s thing. He never much liked dressing up in black; he always preferred blue.

He doesn’t say anything on the limo ride over, just stares sullenly out the window. Steve does the same.

\----

Pepper is halfway through her vows when he hears Bucky sniffling. He glances next to him, thankful that they’re a few rows back and not within the range of Tony’s possible insults. Bucky’s eyes are red and leaking a few tears. “Buck?” Steve whispers, not wanting to call attention to themselves.

“‘M fine,” Bucky mutters.

Steve tries to ignore Bucky’s distress during the rest of the ceremony. The rest of Pepper’s vows and all of Tony’s glide past his ears, even when Tony’s make the group groan and laugh in turn. He keeps sneaking glances over at Bucky, who continues to quietly cry.

And then the ceremony is over, and Tony is calling for everyone to meet them in the ballroom for the reception and Bucky is out of his seat before Tony and Pepper make it back down the aisle. Steve follows Bucky, as wedding receptions have gotten a lot less fun since Steve can no longer get drunk. That, and Bucky will always come first.

Tony’s rented out the entirety of the Plaza and Steve finds Bucky in an employees-only hallway near the ballroom. It’s well-lit but lacks the ornamentation of the rest of the building. Bucky is leaning on a cream-colored wall, half-hunched into himself. “What’s up, Buck?” Steve asks, approaching slowly, hands outside of the pockets of his tuxedo. He stops about two yards from Bucky. “You alright?”

“Sorry,” Bucky says. “I…” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Steve takes another step closer. “Weddin’s are just… They make me kinda emotional.”

Something warms in Steve’s chest. He knows this, remembers it from—

“My cousin, Mary…” Bucky begins, looking up at Steve through his long lashes, seeming almost tentative. “We were at her wedding.”

Steve nods. “Yeah Buck, we were.”

Steve was thirteen, Bucky a year older, dressed up in ill-fitting secondhand suits: Steve’s too big, Bucky’s too small. They laughed about their discomfort all evening, just to switch jackets halfway through dinner. Their mothers both shook their heads, clucking about how their outfits no longer matched, but let them do it anyways. But what Steve remembers best about the night are the clear tears streaming down Bucky’s cheeks, the way that he held his arm in front of his eyes in a failed attempt to keep Steve from seeing him cry. It didn’t work. And it was the first time that Steve had ever seen Bucky cry.

“Y’know what I thought about that night?”

“No.” Steve didn’t try to dissect why Bucky was crying, just staring in fear and awe at his best friend losing it because his cousin was getting hitched. “But I’ll listen now, if you’d let me.”

Bucky straightens up a little, arms still crossed at his chest. But his voice wavers when he speaks, less confident than he’s trying to appear. “I thought… I thought about how nice it must be, to have somebody to be with you forever. Y’know? Mary was signin’ on ’til death do her part, and it seemed nice. Like a safety net. But gotta trust whoever it is you’re signin’ on with.

“And I was thinkin’, ‘wouldn’t be great if I could do this with Steve?’ Because even then, I looked at you and saw forever. Saw this little asshole who’d I’d follow to the depths of hell and back. I don’t think it was… We were friends, don’t think anythin’ weird about it… About any of it, Steve. It doesn’t mean, just ‘cus I…”

Steve realizes that he’s staring, open-mouthed. Both at the fact that Bucky is admitting his feelings, something that hasn’t happened lately, and at his confession. If it… “Buck,” Steve asks, voice surprisingly firm. “Bucky, are you saying what I think you’re…?” He can hear his heart beating fast, the blood rushing through his veins, reminiscent of the sicknesses of his youth, but different. So different.

“Steve,” Bucky says, sounding pained. “Steve, it doesn’t change nothin’, alright? I just… I needed to. When they were up there promisin’ each other forever, I just needed you to know. That I’m… ’til the end of the line, Steve. ’Til the end of the line, no matter what you think, no matter what you want. I know you’re not—“

“I am, Buck.” He takes a tentative step closer. “I am,” he repeats feeling dumb, internally flailing like a fish out of water and unsure what to do. “I’d do it with you, in a heartbeat.”

Bucky is staring, eyes so wide and blue. But not hurt anymore. The moment seems fragile and perfect. “Maybe we should… Date first,” Bucky says, before swallowing hard, body tense and rigid.

Steve grins. “Yes,” he says. “Yes,” he repeats, opening his arms and grabbing Bucky, pulling him in close. Bucky makes a small noise before burrowing his head in the crook of Steve’s shoulder. Steve rubs circles on Bucky’s shaking back as Bucky’s hand finds purchase in Steve’s hair.

They stay like that, Steve and Bucky, Steve muttering soothing things, telling him that he loves him, that he goddamn loves him and he’s waited for so, so long to tell him. Bucky shaking, shaking but pressing shy, chaste kisses into Steve’s neck. And it’s perfect.

Until a voice from down the hall says, “Oh my god, is that Captain America? Can I get your autograph?”

The waitstaff for Tony’s reception are all there, dressed in tuxedoes of their own. And in that moment of shock, Steve doesn’t notice the waiter snapping a picture.

And that’s how #CaptainAmericasBoyToy out-trends #StarkWedding that night.


	23. Singles Will Be Paired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: If you're still taking fic requests, I saw a picture of a sign at an amusement park that said that for those going on a roller coaster, "singles would be paired." Could you do a fic where this is how Steve and Bucky meet and they end up spending the whole day together? --onwardsandfourwords

Sam and Maria are laughing together as they wait for their two-person seat on the Howling Commando, the newest and craziest roller coaster on Coney Island. Steve watches them, somewhat longingly, from where the kid running the ride told him to wait. It was a bad idea to come to the theme park with three people, but Tony had dropped out at the last minute, and Sam’s free passes expire tomorrow. They said they would take turns sitting alone, but Sam and Maria just started going out, and in Sam’s own words, “Sometimes I just want my damn hand held when I’m facing probable death, and your bony fingers don’t quite do it for me, Rogers.”

So Steve’s ended up in the singles line more often than not.

Coney Island has signs up by all of the good rides, “Single riders will be paired.” And so far, Steve has been paired with a bleach blonde tourist from Nebraska who thought his tattoos were “so urban” and his tiny, asthmatic chest, “A real sign of the bad air in the city.” There was a rough guy with whiskers, who’d taken one look at Steve, called him “bub” and sat in silence for the entirety of the ride. He hadn’t screamed once, even when they went through the loop.

It’s with trepidation that Steve awaits his new friend. He doesn’t look at the line; he doesn’t want to know who fate will bring to him.

“You good, Rogers?” Sam asks from a yard and a half away, talking over the heads of several happy coaster-goers.

Steve gives him a thumbs-up. It’s only half sarcastic.

And that’s when the most perfect guy in the universe shuffles behind Steve. “This the singles line?” he asks.  
“Um,” Steve responds brilliantly. He looks up—though the guy isn’t a giant; Steve is just unfairly short—at the guy. His dark hair is parted at the side, a little mussed from the wind of the park’s rides, but rather than making him look silly, like Steve’s cowlicks do, it just seems like he stepped off a runway. His blue eyes shine, even in the dim light of the platform, and he’s dressed well, a dark red v-neck underneath a leather jacket with dark wash blue jeans.

He’s already making Steve think sinful thoughts.

But before Mother Mary Eunice back at St. Joseph’s School for Boys can have hear ears start ringing, Steve manages to say, “Yeah. This is the singles line.”

“Cool,” the guy responds, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He glances over to a red-haired woman and a blond man. Steve notices the hearing aids in either of the guy’s ears as he waves. Steve touches the hearing aid in his left ear, slightly self-conscious. 

Luckily, it’s about then that the car pulls in and the patrons step off, some looking a bit green, but most smiling, hair mussed and wild. “Ready?” the guy asks. Steve nods, serious as he steps into the car, the guy pulling in next to him.

The car is pretty small. Steve can feel the guy’s leg touching his own, and it’s probably a bad move to pop a boner on a roller coaster. “You ready?” the guy asks, smile tinging with nervousness.

Steve makes a small noise of agreement. Truthfully, Steve has a bit of a bad track record with roller coasters, especially at Coney Island. Sam once had to carry him over to the nearest garbage can to hurl. But that was almost six years ago, now. Steve’s sure that he can at least make it over to the nearest trash can to toss his cookies without any help.

And on that note, their handle bar—last in the car—gets checked, and the ride starts with a thunk. He doesn’t have time to think about the guy’s blue eyes or full smile when there’s an adrenaline rush about to be had. Instead, he clutches the handlebars until his knuckles turn white, and waits as they chug up the first hill.

Steve shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath with anticipation. But in the moment that he feels they should be falling, the ride stops.

Steve opens one eye, and then the second. People are turning their heads around, chatting with their neighbors.

“Are we stuck?” Steve asks.

The guy shrugs, posture relaxing. “Looks like it,” he says, then sighs. “Just hope it doesn’t take too long to get us down from here.”

That’s when a PA system blasts, “Attention Coney Island customers. The Howling Commando is down for repairs. Please be patient while Coney Island staff members fix the problem!”

“Oh jeez,” the guy says. “It’s gonna take forever.” He pauses, glancing over at Steve. “Well, in that case, I better introduce myself. I’m Bucky Barnes,” he says, holding his hand to shake.

“Steve, uh, Rogers,” Steve responds, shaking it awkwardly.

“Better settle in, Steve. We could be here a while.”

——

They end up chatting, the two of them. And laughing. And trying to spit over the sides to see if they can hit anyone on the head. By the time that a cherry picker comes up to get them down, Steve is almost sad to leave the cramped roller coaster.

When they get to the bottom, Bucky hops off first, holding out his hand for Steve. Steve rolls his eyes, but takes it. He’s not gonna pass that opportunity up.

Both of their groups of friends are waiting for them—having been closer to the front of the coaster—and they’re… chatting.

“Steve!” Maria shouts, waving him over, Bucky’s friends doing the same. Bucky glances at him, but Steve shrugs and heads over. “Hey, you remember me talking about my friend Clint from the shooting range?” Maria asks. Steve nods. “This is him,” she says, gesturing to the blond guy with hearing aids.

“And this is Natasha,” Clint says, gesturing to the redhead.

“So you all know each other?” Bucky asks. He glances down at Steve, and Steve feels himself flush. Just a little.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “These goons are Maria and Sam.”

“Well,” Bucky says, throwing a casual arm over Steve’s shoulders. “Guess we’ve just gotta hang in a group for the rest of the day.” He looks back down, and okay, Steve is really flushing. “You wanna be my plus-one for all the scary coasters?”

“Sure,” Steve says, willing his voice not to crack. “Sounds good to me.”

——

By the time the sun is setting, the six of them are still together, Clint trying to get Maria to eat a corn dog, Natasha is teaching Sam how to pickpocket, and Bucky’s got his arm around Steve’s shoulders again. All long done with rides—though Steve, thankfully, did not puke once—they’re just hanging out. Being young. Having fun. Those things that youths do. “You made this day special,” Bucky says, soft, then glancing around to make sure that their friends didn’t hear.

It doesn’t seem like they did.

“You too,” Steve responds, feeling his heart beat faster.

“Then,” Bucky says, fishing something out of his back pocket. It’s a receipt, but with a hastily-written phone number on it. “If you wanna hang out sometime off of a roller coaster.”

Steve takes it, holds it tight in his palm before a shot of adrenaline more potent than any roller coaster shoots through his veins. He stands on his tiptoes and presses his lips to Bucky’s. It’s short, and chaste, Steve pulling away quick with red cheeks, but one look at Bucky’s grinning face makes everything just click.

“You better program that into your phone right now, ‘cuz I don’t wanna leave this park without knowin’ that you’re gonna call.”

Steve pulls out his phone.


	24. Support Group Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve/Bucky AU where both are Veterans and both are mentored by Sam but have never met until Sam invites them both to a group he's leading one night. --Anon

Bucky hasn’t been to group.

It doesn’t have much to do with the crippling PTSD, more the fact that he hasn’t much liked people before or after the army. Now that he’s down one arm and up a bunch of nightmares, the last thing he wants to do is sit around and tell anybody but Sam—because Sam’s an exception—about all of the extra baggage he’s been carrying around in the space that his arm used to be.

But he also bet Sam that the Giants would beat the Bears last weekend, so he’s also down a six-pack of Stella and has to come to group.

“Just the once,” Sam made him promise. “You don’t owe me a thing after that. But Bucky?”

“Yeah?” Bucky grunted.

“I think you’ll like it.”

——

He walks in and plops into an empty seat, ignoring the other veterans milling about, and the table of light refreshments. He tries crossing his arms, then remembers that yeah, he only has one, and the crap prosthetic on the other doesn’t move. Overall, it’s been a rough night.

“That seat taken?”

Bucky looks up to see, oh goodness, fucking Adonis standing next to him, six foot four with hair that’s gold like the sun. Of course, Bucky barely huffs out, “Nope,” just barely at the minimum of a human response. The only golden that Bucky Barnes can claim to be is a golden moron.  
Despite the social inadequacy, the guy sits down. He sits ramrod straight, hands in his lap. Bucky pulls his ages-old flip from his back pocket, checking all of his zero text messages just to have something to do. Luckily, before he has to make smalltalk of any sort, Sam sits down on his other side, and calls the group to attention. The other vets finish up their conversations and settle in, filling the circle out. Bucky hazards a glance over to Adonis, who has been trying to keep a neutral face on, but is looking increasingly uncomfortable as the circle fills in.

“First, I want to thank everybody for being here with us today. We’ve got a few new faces in the crowd tonight, and I wanna thank you for being brave. It’s a good step, and I’m proud of you for taking it.”

Bucky crosses his good arm over his chest, wedging his hand underneath his prosthetic. It’s a start.

“If we could all go around and introduce ourselves… I’ll start. My name is Sam Wilson.”

They go around the circle, introducing themselves. There’re ten in all, six men, four women. 

“Chris Popov,” says the girl sitting next to Adonis. “Female pronouns, please.”

“Steve Rogers,” the guy—Steve, then—says. “It’s my first time here,” he adds, looking down at his hands.

“Thanks for being here,” Sam says, then turning to Bucky. “And last, but not least…”

“Bucky,” Bucky grunts. “Bucky Barnes.” He pauses, giving Steve a sidelong glance. “Also my first time.”

Steve catches Bucky’s eye, and when Bucky looks away, Steve says, “Nice to know I’m not alone.”

When Bucky turns back, Steve is looking at him with this dazzling smile, and it’s all Bucky can do not to float away.

——

They talk, each of them speaking to their triumphs of their week, as well as their darker moments. Bucky doesn’t say much; even if he were comfortable speaking out in this group, he wouldn’t have much to say. He spent his week like he spends every week: sleeping, eating, applying for jobs he can’t get with only one arm, and jumping every time there’s a loud noise. And therapy with Sam. Can’t forget that.

Steve doesn’t speak much either, except at the end, when Sam asks if anyone has anything they’d like to add. “If I may,” Steve begins, polite. Sam nods, urges him on. Steve takes a deep breath, and pushes his blond bangs off his face. “I was only gone for four years, but sometimes I look around Brooklyn and it seems like seventy years have passed since I enlisted. The pizza places are different, at least.” There’s a spattering of chuckles. Steve hasn’t looked up from his hands since he began talking. “Most days I do well. I’ve got a desk job, a good apartment, a life. But I still don’t feel like I’m home. I don’t… I don’t know where home is, most days.

“Because I left a month after my mom died, and I realized that I never really had anyone else. But that was alright. For a while home was in the barracks, with my men, my friends. Dum Dum, Monty, Jim, Gabe… Their laughs were my home, their smiles, my warmth. But…” He wipes the back of his hand across his brow. “Now Monty is gone for good, and the rest of us are scattered. And I just… Haven’t found whatever it is that had kept me going.”

There’s silence, then Bucky surprises himself, saying, “It ain’t easy for anybody, but maybe this is a good first step.”

Steve whips his head around, looking at Bucky with wide, blue eyes, like he’s something special just for parroting the same sort of nonsense Sam is always telling him. Bucky glances over at Sam, hoping he doesn’t look too much like a trapped animal, but also hoping that he realizes that he needs to get Bucky out of this pickle right now.

“Thanks for sharing, Steve,” Sam says, actual sincerity oozing into his voice. “And I agree with Bucky. It’s not going to take a day, or even a month, but little by little you’ll be able to build your home, person by person.” Bucky can feel Steve looking at him, and he hunches in on himself a little further. “Maybe that’s a lesson all of us can take with us. How’re we building our homes? And who are we sharing them with? Let’s unpack that a little next week.”

And with that, everyone is standing up, pushing their chairs back. Some people head straight out of the room, while others linger, wanting to talk to each other or Sam. Bucky stands up, and makes for the exit, but Steve cuts him off. “Hey there,” he says.

“Uh,” Bucky responds, brilliant as usual.

“You busy?” Steve asks, looking like a golden retriever.

A golden retriever who probably has perfect abs underneath his plaid button-down. So Bucky shakes his head. “Don’t think so.”

“You wanna grab a cup of coffee?”

Bucky pauses, glancing over to Sam. He’s in a small group, but is pretty openly watching Bucky and Steve. He makes eye contact with Bucky, gestures to Steve. Restraining the urge to roll his eyes at Sam, Bucky looks back at Steve, looking nervous and awkward because of Bucky’s hesitation. “Sure,” he says. “You’re buyin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Part II!


	25. Support Group Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: your support group au. i burn, i pine, i perish. --shadesofsky

Steve hands Bucky a glass of water. “Sorry,” Bucky says, voice rough, hoarse.

“Buck,” Steve responds, sitting next to him on Steve’s plush couch. He runs a hand through Bucky’s newly cut hair. “You don’t have to apologize.” Bucky takes a sip, so he doesn’t have to respond. The water is room-temperature, from the sink. It feels good going down, almost as good as Steve’s hand in his hair. He finishes the cup too soon and sets it on Steve’s coffee table.

“Probably the first time your date finished off with a panic attack, right?” Bucky asks, forcing out a meager chuckle. They had danced around this for weeks, he and Steve, but hadn’t done a thing about it until Bucky talked about what it was like being queer in the army during group. Steve said he hadn’t been sure. Steve asked him out right afterwards.  
But leave it to Bucky Barnes to fuck it all up.

Steve just keeps sliding his hand through Bucky’s hair. “It doesn’t change anything,” Steve says, so kind. Bucky looks up. Steve’s looking at him, eyes intense and blue. Bucky can’t pull his gaze away. “You know I’m… I’m real serious about this, Buck. About you.” He moves his hand from Bucky’s hair, and for a moment Bucky feels lonelier from the lack of contact. Which is silly, and too soon, and rectified when Steve grabs his hand, instead. “I really like you, Bucky. PTSD and all.” Steve smiles, and despite all the shit, Bucky smiles back.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says, a hell of a lot worse at speeches than Steve. “I like you, too.”

And even though it’s a stupid, small statement, when Bucky looks up, Steve is grinning at him, smirking like he’s just won the lottery. Bucky rolls his eyes, but leans into Steve’s side. Steve wraps his free arm around Bucky’s shoulders and presses him in tighter. Bucky shuts his eyes, smelling the clean scent of Steve’s soap, feeling the smooth material of his button down against his cheek.

Something pools in the bottom of his stomach, a nervousness that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He doesn’t want to screw this up. Steve is soft and kind, but still stubborn and prickly. He has nightmares; he talks about them in group, and sometimes to Bucky when they’re alone. Once, he texted Bucky at 2 in the morning, saying he couldn’t sleep. Neither could Bucky. They texted until they got coffee together at 5. They’re both all kinds of screwed up, but they’re both doing better. They’re getting help. Both want to try to make themselves a better life and maybe.

Maybe they can do it together.


	26. Werewolf Howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: If you're still taking prompts... Stucky, werewolf AU, based on an old English myth that if someone who really and truly loves and knows the werewolf calls their name, they'll turn back. Bucky is the werewolf. Steve is the stubborn idiot who refuses to give up on him --erinnathelesbian

“You should kill me,” Bucky begs, roaring as the change ripples through his skin. Steve can see his nails change to grotesque claws, his already-shaggy hair growing longer, more mangy. Steve takes a step closer. “Get back!” Bucky screams, swiping at Steve with his claws as his eyes grow more bloodshot, irises changing from their usual slate blue to yellow, his pupils shifting from circles to an animalistic vertical line. Steve dodges the swipe with ease, watching as hair—no, fur—covers his heaving chest, his limbs elongating. “Steve,” he says, a final time, voice near to breaking. “You have to leave.”

“No,” Steve says, willing his voice to stay firm. “No, Buck, we can fight this.”

“Idiot,” he mutters, before his mouth shifts to a muzzle.

And then it’s no longer James Buchanan Barnes standing in front of him, but a wolf.  
——

“Steve,” Bucky says, half-naked in a trash-ridden alley. “You can’t make me back into what I was.”

Steve leans down; Bucky flinches, turning his sweat-plastered head away from him. Steve doesn’t try to touch. “I don’t care, Buck. Whatever they did to you, it doesn’t matter.”

Bucky groans, angry and harsh. “You don’t understand,” he growls. “I’m not… Steve…” His voice cracks, eyes wide with fear and hurt. “I’m not, I’m not.” His voice grows quiet. “I’m not human. Not anymore.”

——

The wolf is the same color as Bucky’s hair, dark brown, and soft. He’s got shining white teeth, and yellow eyes. He’s about twice the size of an average wolf, and as much as Bucky had tried to prepare him for it, his friend as this creature still sends Steve’s heart beating fast. One of his legs is made of metal.

But underneath that fur is Bucky, his Bucky. And he knows it, even if Bucky doesn’t.

——

“I just need a safe place,” he says, resting his head on Steve’s chest as they lay together. “Someplace where I can’t hurt people.”

Steve strokes a hand through Bucky’s hair. It’s still wet from his shower, long and hot. “I’ll find a place for you, Buck. We’ll—“

“I’m,” Bucky corrects. “You’re not gonna have any part of it.”

Steve tugs at Bucky’s hair, gentle. “C’mon Buck,” he says, quiet. “I’m not gonna let you suffer like that alone.”

Bucky pulls his head up, looks at Steve in the eyes, his flesh hand braced on Steve’s chest. “I’m dangerous, Steve. I’m not gonna let you end up like I did, no matter how stupid you are.”

——

Bucky growls, paws his metal hand against the ground. Steve swallows hard; Bucky growls. They’re in the shelter Steve had found for Bucky, a concrete basement in upstate New York. Isolated. Just the two of them.

And of course Steve wouldn’t leave. Not when Bucky began transforming, hurting, the silver cuffs Steve had tried to put on him burning into his skin. He had to unlatch him, to stay with him as the full moon rose. But now he’s here, Bucky is a wolf and there’s nothing standing between them.

Steve wonders, faintly, if Doctor Erskine’s serum will keep him from becoming a werewolf.

Then Bucky barks at him, barring his teeth. Steve takes a tentative step forward, hand out. Bucky tries snapping at it with his huge mouth, so okay, that’s not gonna work.

So Steve tries taking a step back, but Bucky braces himself on his hind legs, ready to pounce.

“Please,” Steve says, but it falls on deaf ears; Bucky begins to pounce, just as Steve shuts his eyes and yells, “Bucky!”

He braces himself for impact, but what falls on him isn’t at all what he expects.

When he opens his eyes, Bucky is in his arms, shaking, and naked.

“Buck?” Steve breathes as Bucky burrows his face into his neck. “But you were…” Steve trails off, unsure, rubbing circles into Bucky’s back as he sobs.

“I nearly,” Bucky manages.

“Shh,” Steve says into Bucky’s mangled hair. “It’s okay. We’re here. We’re fine. I love you.” He says it again, and again until Bucky stops shaking. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the tumblr is whtaft.tumblr.com. I post stuff more frequently there than I do here, if you're interested in keeping up!


	27. My Boyfriend Kirk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Request! Steve and Bucky 'i'm pretending to be ur bff bc u looked VERY uncomfortable with that person at the bar hitting on u' AU -- anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god I haven't updated this in months, not that I've written much, but here's stuff I did three months ago. xoxo.

Steve is trying to pay attention to the story Sam is telling him, but he’s having trouble. It’s not that it’s not interesting, in fact, Steve’s been aching to hear about Sam and Maria’s date all day. But his eyes keep flicking over to the brunette sitting at the bar. Steve noticed him immediately when he walked in; he’s well-built and a little stocky, with slick hair and dazzling blue eyes. Steve is at a small wooden table with Sam, maybe a yard and a half away from where the guy’s sitting at the bar. But Steve isn’t looking at him because he looks good.

“You think that guy’s alright?” he interrupts, speaking quiet and low to Sam, so no one around them will overhear. While Steve isn’t one to shy away from speaking his mind, he doesn’t want to do anything that could end up with that guy getting hurt.

Sam pauses in his story, obviously knowing but not commenting on Steve’s distraction. He glances over his shoulder briefly, then turns back to Steve. “Doesn’t look to great,” Sam admits. “But you don’t know the backstory. Maybe—“

Steve doesn’t need to know the backstory. What he does know is that the brunette has looked palpably uncomfortable for about ten minutes now, while this creepy of a guy looms over him, offering to buy him drinks and touching him. The brunette has swatted the guy away, laughingly at first, but his smile is strained now. Steve doesn’t think they came in together; the guy who’s hitting on the brunette came in with a group of guys sitting in the corner. Though Steve knows he could take them if he really needed to—and he’d have Sam as back-up—he’d really like to end this as painlessly as possible.

He heads to the bar and hovers near the brunette for a moment, letting him get a good look at him before Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. He smiles down at the brunette in a way that he hopes is reassuring, and is rewarded with the brunette’s shaky smile. “Hey babe,” Steve says. “Sorry that took so long. You know how Sam likes to talk.” He pauses, looking at the strong-jawed man who’s been hitting on the guy. “Seems like you took this opportunity to make a friend.” Steve straightens up a bit, and the guy frowns.

“Yeah, uh Brock, this is my boyfriend Kirk.”

Steve struggles to keep a straight face—does he really look like a  _Kirk_?—as he reaches his hand out to shake the guy’s hand. “Pleasure,” he says.

The guy eyes him up and down, grimacing as he shakes Steve’s hand. “Yeah same.” He pauses, letting go, wincing a little from Steve’s showboat grip. “You didn’t say you have a boyfriend, Bucky.”

“Didn’t think I had to,” Bucky says, a little sharp. He leans into Steve. “How’s Sam doin’?” he asks, looking up at Steve. He’s got a Brooklyn twang and it makes Steve ache a little for home.

“The usual, a little pissed about Sharon.” Steve is making stuff up on the spot, but it’s like Bucky completely understands.

He rolls his eyes on cue. “He would,” he says before adding, “Y’know, I think the move’ll be good for her. That break-up was pretty rough.”

“New York will be good for her career, too. She’s—“

Rumlow interrupts, “I’m gonna go.” His voice is rough, expression pissed. “Catch you some other time.”

“Sure,” Bucky says without looking away from Steve, expression calm and eyes seemingly enamored with his fake boyfriend. Steve stays standing, half-watching Brock return to his group of friends, say something to them, glance back at Bucky, then roll his eyes and head out. Meanwhile, Bucky’s been half-heartedly talking about Sharon. He physically relaxes when Brock is out of the place. “Thanks,” he says as Steve moves his arm off of Bucky’s shoulders. “That guy was an ass.”

“Looked like it,” Steve responds. “You okay?” he asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Not like it’s the first time I’ve been hit on by an asshole.” He pauses. “Hey, not that I wanna be that new asshole for pressurin’ you, but if you’re not busy, would you lemme buy you a drink? To say thanks?”

Steve thinks of Sam and his three-fourths full beer sitting at the table. But he sits down, smiles, and says, “Sure.”

“First, uh, what’s your name? Because I’m guessin’ it ain’t Kirk.”

Steve grins. “It’s Steve.”

“Nice to meet ya, Steve. I’m Bucky.”

(Three weeks later, Steve really is Bucky’s boyfriend. And six months later, Steve and Bucky are living together. And a year and a half later? Well, Steve is Mr. Bucky Barnes, and it all started with that drink.)


	28. Obligatory Christmas Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Writing prompts! How about some Stucky fun where they're snowed in somewhere? Like they're just two guys wanting to get some shopping done before this big storm hits and AW DAMN IT IT HIT EARLY guess we're stuck here together kinda thing. Or whatever. Something like that. -- Pogryzc

Getting Natasha a present is impossible.

Part of Steve just wanted to wimp out and get her a gift card to the pancake house they go to after VA meetings, but that just seemed weak. Especially since Natasha is a master gift giver. She always has something uniquely personal ready to go for every one of her acquaintances. If Christmas were a contest, Natasha would win every year.

So it’s December 24rd, Steve is getting  _desperate_ , since she’s the only one left on his list, so he heads to the mall.

Of course it’s a nightmare. It’s Christmas Eve, so it’s full of losers like him, who couldn’t find the perfect gift for such-and-such friend or such-and-such relative. To make matters worse, there’s supposed to be the mother of all snowstorms tonight. Steve gets to the mall at about three—as early as he could conceivably cut his time at the gallery for the afternoon—and there’re light flakes coming down. He’s hoping he can get finished up before the storm really hits.

His hopes are dashed pretty quickly.

Steve is looking at a pearl necklace in Macy’s when the announcement comes on the PA, “Attention Macy’s customers: The National Weather Service has issued a warning for this area. Due to extreme weather conditions, they advise citizens to stay inside for the next two to seven hours, and to drive sparingly and carefully until the roads clear up tomorrow by mid-morning. Thank you.”

There’s a pause, then a chorus of groans around him. A few people try to make a dash to their cars, and Steve can see the blanket of white outside the doors. He can’t see a thing past it. He sighs, pays for the necklace, and begins to wander around the mall.

——

He first notices the guy staring confused at a women’s wallet in Nordstrom’s. He doesn’t say a thing, and walks past.

——

Then he’s looking perplexed at a DVD box set of  _Veep_ at F.Y.E.

——

Steve actually gets up the nerve to talk to him when he’s holding up the limp body of an unfilled teddy bear at Build-A-Bear. “Just a tip,” Steve says. “If you’re getting something for a kid, they’d probably rather just have a gift card and make the bear themselves.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s gonna be snotty and retort, but he just drops the bear back onto the pile. “Fine by me,” he says, glaring at the bear for good measure. “Though I’m a bit offended that you didn’t think McFluffikins here isn’t for me. Don’t I deserve nice things?”

“Oh, I do.” Steve can’t himself from grinning. Or from raking his eyes up and down the guy’s body, as inconspicuously as he can. He’s a little shorter, a little stockier than Steve, with blue eyes and longish brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He’s wearing jeans and motorcycle boots with a black leather jacket, and Steve is already thinking terribly inappropriate thoughts, despite the bear-related Christmas music playing in the store.

Then the jerk has to go and smirk. “Hey,” he says. “If you’re finished shoppin’, wanna grab a beer in the food court?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I would.”

Steve and Bucky—yes, his name is Bucky, and it’s perfect—spend the next several hours drinking cheap light beer and sampling all the mall food they can stomach while bemoaning the holiday parties they’re missing with their friends tonight. And when the clock strikes midnight, they find themselves tipsy, happy, and warm underneath some mistletoe. It’s the best kiss Steve’s ever had.

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky says, grinning.

“Merry Christmas,” Steve parrots, already reaching in for another peck.


	29. Santa's Helpers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A prompt, if you are still taking them! Holiday themed is what I feel and I had this thought of an AU where Steve works as an elf in the mall with photo Santa. Bucky also works in the mall and they meet and Steve really wishes he weren't wearing such a dumb costume around this hot guy. (p.s. your writing is stellar, you are perfect) -- semisweetshadow (+ another prompt from seaghostsoaring)

Santa’s “ho-ho-ho” goes straight to Bucky’s dick.

Mostly because he’s seen Santa changing in the break room and  _holy mistletoe_ does Kris Kringle got a beautiful six-pack. And a charming smile. And an infectious laugh. And, let’s be real, he’s even cute with his fake belly and bushy beard on. It’s not fair. Bucky only has so much self-control.

He prints out a photo of his favorite Santa and two twin girls with matching braids and bright, cheery smiles. After placing it in the Santa’s Village Special Photo Frame, he exchanges it with the girls’ mother for $14.98, smiles, and wishes them a “Very merry Christmas, from Santa and all his elves!” as they walk away. He resists the urge to pull his jolly green tights from his jolly pale ass crack.

“Barnes!” Bucky jumps to attention. His boss—also dressed as an elf—is glowering at him. “Santa needs a helper for a toy delivery.” It’s code for  _“Bucky, there’s a crazy parent attacking Santa either physically or verbally and you need to get your sad elf ass over there to get them out of Santa’s beard.”_  Bucky nods and gives the manager the register as he heads back to Santaville. The little complex they have consists of three parts: the line, a little hut where kids actually see Santa, and the photo checkout station. Bucky the Elf is usually on photo checkout, but frequently gets called to help muscle out obnoxious customers from Santa’s hut. He’s the most jacked elf in Santa’s Village. But that hasn’t happened yet on this Santa’s shift; he’s usually the best with customers, and Bucky can’t help but be apprehensive, wondering what kind of person he’s gonna have to shuffle out of there.

He opens the door to the little hut and sticks his head inside. “Howdy Santa, just wanted to check and see how things’re join’ up here in the North Pole?” Santa looks over the kid on his lap to Bucky, raising an eyebrow. ‘Howdy?’ he mouths, and if the little kid—who Bucky realizes is crying—and their mother weren’t looking at him, he’d roll his eyes.

“Things are going  _quite_  poorly,” the mother says, lips pinched. “Santa will not take off his beard, even though it frightens Suzie.”

Part of Bucky thinks that this is the end of it all, that humanity cannot spiral further downward from here. “Aw, but ma’am, Santa’s beard can’t come off! It’s been here for centuries!” Bucky walks over to Santa, and gives his beard a gentle tug, though he tries his best to pretend that it isn’t completely fake. Little Suzie does not look convinced.

“Well,” Bucky tries. “If you don’t wanna tell Santa what you want, why don’t you tell me? I can get the info to the big guy.”

Looking skeptical, Suzie clambers off of Santa’s lap and heads towards Bucky’s open arms. He rests a hand on her shoulder and asks, “What do you want for Christmas, Suzie?”

Apparently forgetting about the beard fiasco—which Bucky isn’t going to ask about because it’s not his job to judge the kids, only their parents—Suzie grins. “Monsters High!” she exclaims. “Three of them! I want…” She rattles off a few names, none of which make  _any_  sense to Bucky, but he nods and smiles, and when she’s done, returns Suzie to her mother.

“You got that, Santa?”

“Loud and clear, Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Suzie asks, while Bucky turns a deep shade of pink.

“It’s my name,” Bucky responds, sounding a little more awed than he hoped he’d sound.

Santa is busy not looking at him, and Bucky knows Suzie and her sainted mother are holding up the line, so he helps them out, and goes through the rest of his shift half-hoping that Santa will need a helpful elf to come and save the day.

——

But he doesn’t, and Bucky’s shift ends.

With a mournful sigh, he heads into the locker room to change out of his tights and back into his blessed jeans. (Which, let’s be honest, are tight enough to be tights themselves.) But he stops short when he walks in.

“Hey,” Santa says, beardless and sans-fat suit. And Jesus, he’s gorgeous. Blond and chiseled, with a really nice smile. He stands up from the bench in the middle of the room, and walks over to Bucky. “Thanks for saving me back there.”

“No problem, just bein’ Santa’s helper.”

“You’re probably the best,” he says. “Not many elves would’ve humored her.”

“Well…” Bucky says, shrugging.

His smile grows broader. “It’s important to give every kid a great experience. I try, but sometimes…” He looks a little sad as he thinks about little Suzie, and Bucky has to restrain a laugh.

“Buddy, your shifts always have the smallest number of unhappy kids. You got nothin’ to worry about.”

“Thanks,” he says, glancing down. Moments later he’s looking up at Bucky through long lashes. Bucky swallows. Hard. “Hey, if you’re not busy, wanna grab a shake or something?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “But…” Santa looks almost  _scared_  of Bucky, and it’s so cute that Bucky has to smile. “You gotta name? I don’t wanna havta call you Santa.”

“Steve,” Santa, no Steve says, grinning. “My name is Steve.”


	30. Post-Surgery Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stucky: what if Steve got hurt on mission and didn't tell Bucky?? -- monkeydo2

“Anything you need before we start the surgery, Captain?”

Steve shrugs, wincing when the movement irritates one of his wounds. He’s got four bullets in his body right now—or at least he thinks, there may be a few more; he’s lost count—and is a bit out of sorts. He thinks of Bucky in their apartment in Brooklyn, probably watching TV right now. There’ll be coverage of the battle, but Steve doesn’t think he saw any cameras nearby. Bucky probably doesn’t know how badly he’s hurt. Maybe he should ask the doctor to give Bucky a call, to tell him what happened. But no. He doesn’t want Bucky to worry. There’s more than enough for Bucky to worry about in his life, Steve doesn’t need to add in a few bullets with wounds he’ll heal from. They can talk later. As the anesthetic moves through his system, he shuts his eyes and thinks of Bucky’s face.

—

When Steve wakes-up Bucky has half a mind to give him a piece of his mind. But then Steve is looking at him with wide, confused eyes and asking, “Bucky?” breathlessly, like he can’t believe he’s here. Steve reaches a hand out slow, tentative, like he’s worried Bucky won’t take it. Which means Steve is just being as dumb as fucking ever, because Bucky holds onto it, all gentle since he knows that shoulder is still healing up even with Captain America’s super healing. “Buck,” Steve says, looking at Bucky with drooping eyes. “I didn’t mean’t…” He’s slurring his words, obviously out of sorts from being knocked out.

Bucky doesn’t want to imagine how much stuff they had to use to knock Steve out. He should talk to Steve’s doctors.

“Buck,” Steve repeats, more adamant. “Buck, the MacArthur boys were bein’ so mean with that pup.” His eyes are wide as he drops Bucky’s hand. In response, Bucky reaches out with his flesh hand to smooth back his blond hair. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Hey now,” Bucky responds, voice sweet. Bucky’s had his own troubles with this, in getting stuck somewhere else.  He presses the back of his hand to Steve’s forehead. He’s a bit sweaty. “Did you do the right thing?”

Steve looks at him for a long beat before nodding real slow. “Think so.”

“Well I know so, buddy. You always gotta do the right thing, doncha? Even when it busts you up real good.”

“If I don’t do it nobody else’ll,” Steve agrees, laying back and shutting his eyes again. He makes a cute snuffling noise and pushes his head towards Bucky’s hand. “Is nice.”

“You get some sleep.”

Steve opens one eye. “You gonna stay?”

“‘Course.”

Steve settles in, and in a few minutes his breathing evens out, and he falls back asleep.

And well, Bucky can chew him out later.


	31. High School Never Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: high school skinny steve and bucky au anything rly just I'm dying for a stucky high school au lololol -- anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much a cop-out. I had tried writing a high school band AU but gave up, and this was going to be the beginning of it.

On the first day of band camp Steve Rogers passes the fuck out.

Director Phillips—colloquially called the Colonel—calls out, “Somebody pick up Rogers, for God’s sake,” but Bucky Barnes is already carrying him bridal style, telling Director Carter that he’s taking Rogers to the nurse. Sam watches from the trombone section, half-laughing at the fact that Steve’s dreams are all coming true at once, and Steve won’t even remember.

**…**

Except the joke is definitely on Sam, since Steve will remember. He will remember in excruciating detail the way that he wakes up in Bucky Barnes’s—toned, muscular, beautiful—arms, limp and sweating. “What the…” Steve says, blinking a few times because he may’ve died, and he may be in heaven.

“Rise ’n shine, Rogers. You feelin’ okay?”

“I… What…”

“You passed out, and on Phillips’s field time. You’re never gonna hear the end of it.” Wait, never mind. He’s definitely in Hell. “Bet everyone’s all freaked out and it’ll take a whole three minutes for him to get ‘em back to attention. First week of Honor Band and you’re already gonna be persona non grata.”

“You know I’m in Honor Band?” Steve asks, a little—well, more than a little—dazed.

And then Bucky Barnes does something that Steve Rogers, in all of his sixteen years of life, had never imagined Bucky Barnes doing for him. (Though technically speaking, Steve has only known who Bucky is for one of them, but it feels like a life-changing moment.) Bucky Barnes  _smiles_  at him, really smiles with teeth. The skin around his eyes crinkles up, and his blue eyes sparkle like seas in the fluorescent lights of the school hallway, and Steve can’t help but cringe at his terrible, high school-level metaphors. “Yeah I do. I was there for your audition.”

“I remember,” Steve says, because he thought he’d blown the audition. He had taken one look at Bucky sitting next to Director Carter and very near had an asthma attack. The whole audition is a blur, frankly, and he thought for sure he’d end up in Concert Band, even though he’d practiced for hours and hours on end, wanting to have that seat in the best band with the serious musicians in the program. People like Bucky. Who is a serious musician. The best, really. He plays clarinet like Benny Goodman, and percussion like Ringo.

Well, maybe not Ringo. But Steve doesn’t know the names of many great drums players, okay?

“You’re gonna be fine, buddy. Just got a bit dehydrated or somethin’. Happened to me my first-year. Thought I didn’t need sunscreen like an asshole and ended up with heatstroke. Didn’t pass out in the middle of practice, but ended up puking my guts out right after. Bad day.”

Steve musters up a smile, even though he’s not running on 100% right now.

“Don’t sweat it, pal. You’re gonna be fine.” He pauses. “Even if you are a bit sweaty already.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, feeling his cheeks flush, and not from the heat or dehydration.

“Don’t mention it. Wanted to get offa that field as much as you do. Marchin’s such a chore.”

“I agree, though it’s probably pretty obvious.”

Bucky chuckles, then his face falls. “You know you could probably get an out, with your asthma and all. Just a few doctor’s notes and you’d—“

“Just ‘cuz something’s a chore doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.”

Bucky responds, but it’s lost on Steve. Because he passes out.  _Again_.

**…**

“So,” Sam says that afternoon. They’re sitting on the floor of Steve’s bedroom, Sam nursing a Coke and Steve trying to drink as much water as humanly possible. “You get a chance to talk to Bucky?”

“A little,” Steve admits.

“A  _little_ ,” Sam mocks; Steve rolls his eyes. “C’mon Rogers, details.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Except for the intense embarrassment that will haunt Steve until his dying day. “He carried me to the nurse.”

“Seems like he hung around for a while.”

Steve sighs, flopping onto his back. “Yeah, probably to get out of another rehearsal with the Colonel.” Steve stares at the Morrissey poster he has on his wall. Then questions why he has it. Maybe it’s a bad sign. He should probably take it down, lest he be doomed in love for the rest of his life. “Not even Bucky Barnes wants to march in the ninety degree heat with Phillips looking on all disappointed.”

“ _Or_ ,” Sam interjects, “Maybe he was totally worried about the cute little trumpet player who—“

“Don’t,” Steve responds, before groaning. “Have you ever seen Bucky Barnes at a dance without a date?”’

“Steve, have you ever seen him actually kiss a girl? Or even hold a girl’s hand for that matter?”

“Doesn’t mean anything,” Steve scoffs.

“Sure,” Sam says. “Keep telling yourself that.”

 


	32. The President and the Professor Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My and Alicia's headcanons for Lenyon: Steve serves midnight breakfast during finals, and Bucky usually never helps but does when Bucky is there. Bucky is the advisor for Lenyon's paper, the Collegiate, but he secretly likes the online paper, the Shrill, better. He also thinks the Shrill's co-editor is a lot better and more competent. Also the hottest bar in town is The Stove. - firstginger & beam-me-up-hottie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the continuation of the story begun in Chapter 20, so you may want to refresh your memory by reading that!

This is Steve’s worst nightmare.

Okay, maybe not the  _worst_ , but he’s not quite sure how to react when another young woman comes up to him and asks him for his sausage with a grin. Steve blushes and uses a pair of unruly tongs to put a few sausages on the girl’s plate, while Bucky—on scrambled egg scooping duty—sniggers next to him.

Honestly, Steve hadn’t expected Bucky to be at Midnight Breakfast. The school tradition occurs on the Saturday before finals week. Certain members of the staff and faculty, along with the kitchen staff host a late night breakfast with energy drinks and a salad bar filled with candy. The students love it, and most of the faculty hate it. In the  _Collegiate_ —Lenyon’s newspaper—from last year, Bucky was quoted as saying that he “wouldn’t be caught dead” at Midnight Breakfast.

Yet here he was, scooping eggs for caffeinated, stressed-out students who seem determined to hit on Steve even though he’s…

Well, he’s honestly not sure what he is.

It’s nearing the end of Steve’s first semester. The weather is cold, and a layer of snow covers the ground. The campus, in Steve’s opinion, has never looked better. There are white lights in the trees, and the local coffeeshop has a non-denominational decorative bush in the corner that’s covered in paper ornaments decorated by kids from the middle school down the street. Sure, the campus is stressed, but the holiday season is coming. It’s Steve’s favorite time of year.

And yet, he’s feeling restless, nervous. Things have gone well this semester. Natasha tells him that there’s been overwhelming positive support from him from the student body, and that donations have actually increased from alumni, “and it’s not just because a bunch died all at once,” Natasha had helpfully added. So sure, his new job is stressing him out a little, but a lot of his conflict is coming from the man standing next to him.

“What are you doin’ here?” Bucky asks a student with a grin as he takes his plate. “Did you finish your final writing packet?”

The student in question rolls his eyes. “C’mon Professor Barnes. I’ve still got…” he glances at his wristwatch. “Ten hours left to turn it in.”

Bucky snorts in that annoying/endearing way of his before handing the plate back. “Good luck, then.”

As the student moves on to Steve, Bucky leans in. “I made you eggs on the night of the Inaugural Ball,” he whispers. The student eyes them skeptically—probably thinking that they’re whispering about him, no doubt—and Steve maybe asks him a bit too loudly if he’d like any sausages, which the student declines.

Luckily before Steve can make even more of an ass of himself, one of the students who organizes Midnight Breakfast—a Junior named Melinda—comes up to them. “President Rogers, Professor Barnes, you’re both off-duty. Provost Romanoff and Professor Coulson are taking over for you.” She pauses, looking up from her clipboard. “Thank you for coming tonight,” she adds, before ushering Natasha and Phil Coulson—a Political Science Professor—over. Steve hands over his tongs to Natasha, who gives him a little, knowing glance.

After surrendering their aprons to Phil and Natasha, Steve and Bucky make their way through the servery, students waving hello, or bravely bounding up to them. Bucky’s premonition at the Inaugural Ball came true: after another month on campus, students have started flirting with Steve. Most of it is benign, he knows, and he’d never touch an undergrad, but it always makes him flustered. It seems like tonight especially, with so many students sugar-high—or actually high—and casual, there’s been a lot more than usual. Steve can’t help but glance over at Bucky, to see if he’s maybe even the least bit jealous, but he never is. That’s going double tonight, when every student that makes eyes at Steve just makes Bucky laugh out loud.

The problem is, Steve wonders as they walk through the lobby, successfully avoiding a rather terrifying Classics professor who likes to lecture Steve about how when he started here it was an all-boy’s school and should go back to being that way, is that he doesn’t  _know_  what he is to Bucky. Sure, he’s been sleeping exclusively with the man, but he has no idea about what’s going on in Bucky’s dumb, genius head. They’ve never discussed what they are to one another, even if Steve is so stuck on Bucky that he can barely see straight, no pun intended. Part of him longs to ask whether Bucky will be his boyfriend, but another part wonders if asking for some kind of commitment would ruin whatever it is they have now.

“You busy after this?” Bucky asks.

“Well, I should respond to a parent very angry that his son got a D in a class he never went to, but if you have a better offer?”

Bucky scratches at the back of his neck. He cut his hair short about two weeks ago, and he doesn’t seem to have the hang of it yet—even if the cut suits him, really, really suits him. “I had a kind of naughty idea,” Bucky says, looking up and smiling, a little evil glint in his eye.

“Will it get me fired?” Steve asks.

“Not unless you fuck it up royally,” Bucky responds, then pauses, thoughtful. “Do you trust me?”

Steve’s “Yeah,” is breathy, and stupid, and Bucky  _totally_  notices.

“C’mon then,” Bucky says, knocking shoulders with Steve as they leave the dining hall, and head into the cold December night.

The campus is quiet, and relatively serene. The snow muffles the noise, and Bucky reaches out, linking his arm through Steve’s. “’S dark enough no one will notice,” Bucky says, which makes Steve’s smile fall just a little.

“Embarrassed of me?” he asks, half-joking.

But Bucky must sense his insecurity because he stops, looks both ways to check for students, then pulls Steve down for a sweet, lingering kiss. “No way,” he says against Steve’s lips. But then it’s over, and Bucky is walking down the street, Steve following with their arms still linked together.

That is, until Steve can see where they’re headed.

“No,” he says, standing firm.

Bucky just laughs. “Come on sugar, the kids’ll love it.”

“Sugar?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sweetheart, honeybear, darlin’, just come in with me for a drink.”

Thank God it’s dark, or else the blush on Steve’s cheeks would be enough ammunition for Bucky to make fun of him until he retires. “I don’t mind having a drink Buck, but the Stove?”

Steve pointedly looks at the ramshackle little dive bar directly ahead of them. Half-burnt out Christmas lights hang from the gutters of the dilapidated little shack, white paint peeling, radiating the scent of greasy french fries. It’s the biggest eyesore on campus, but the students love it. Really, it’s the only place for them to get their young person needs out, as they’re in such a rural location. And it’s better than having the students drive around drunk.

Doesn’t mean Steve wants to go  _inside_  it.

“I can hear you thinkin’, and I just want you to stop for a hot sec.” He moves close and pushes Steve’s hair back, using his fingertip to trace the shell of Steve’s ear. “We’ll go in for a drink, you’ll see the place, and the students will love it, I swear. And then we’re outta there.” Bucky moves his thumb to Steve’s cheekbone and swipes across it. “Then I got an idea of where we can go after that,” he adds, soft.

“Sure,” Steve manages, choked up with emotion and wondering what is running through Bucky’s head right now. “Yeah, I’ll give the ol’ college try.”

The half-hearted attempt at a joke makes Bucky light up. “C’mon then,” Bucky says, pulling away and heading towards the bar. Sighing, Steve follows.

—-

After Steve declines a  _fourth_  round of free tequila shots from students, he tells Bucky they have to go. “No, President Rogers,” says one of the students talking to him and Bucky. Turns out that there’s a crew of Bucky’s advisees from  _The Shrill_  in there, a news and humor blog mildly affiliated with the  _Collegiate_. Not that he’d let any of the students know, but Bucky once confided to Steve that he prefers  _The Shrill_  and its staff. They’re more imaginative, and frankly, a small school like them doesn’t actually have enough news to fill an entire paper.

Steve made the kids promise that this conversation would  _not_  end up on  _The Shrill_. He doesn’t have much hope that it won’t, though. He just hopes that they won’t report on the googly eyes he’s been making at their advisor the entire night.

“Nah, Mr. President is right. It’s gettin’ late for us old guys.”

After a chorus of protests, Steve and Bucky manage to make it out of the steamy bar and back into the chilly cold. Bucky shivers, and Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. “We going to your place?” Steve asks quiet, because while the arm is benign and most of the students are blissfully ignorant that their President and favorite Professor are even there, it’s probably not a great idea to say it too loudly.

There’s a beat, and Bucky’s face falls. Steve is sure that his face follows, because Bucky plasters on a fake smile and says, “Sure.” Steve nods and drops his arms from Bucky’s shoulders, terrified that this is it, that somehow he’s messed up bad enough in the past hour that whatever tenuous string that’s been keeping Bucky interested is now broken.

It’s a short, quiet walk to Bucky’s place, but every moment feels like an eternity as Steve pretends he’s not freaking out. Bucky, on the other hand, seems calm as he unlocks the door of his small house and ushers Steve inside. Steve hovers a few steps in, wringing his fingers as Bucky steps inside and closes the door behind him.

Bucky rakes his eyes up and down Steve’s body before asking, all bluntness, “Am I just a booty call to you?”

Steve’s mouth drops open before he can stutter out, “N-no! Of  _course_  not!”

“Then why are you so reticent to be in public with me, Steve?”

“What?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” He feels his voice go tense, but Steve isn’t going down without a fight.

“Jesus Christ Steve,” Bucky says, running a hand through his hair. “All you want is inner, then to get into my pants, and while I haven’t minded it, I also don’t want to just be your fuck buddy.”

“Wait,” Steve says, shutting his eyes for a moment as he tries to figure out what’s going on. “Are  _you_  trying to give me some kind of ultimatum? Because last I checked you haven’t give me a goddamn clue about what you want out of this!”

Bucky exaggeratedly rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I haven’t told you. Just showing up at the same Midnight Breakfast shift as you, then trying to go out to the lowest stress public place on campus because I  _want_  to hide this.”

Slowly, the realization dawns on Steve. Bucky  _has_  shown up to an uncharacteristically large amount of campus events the past few weeks, always grinning at Steve from across the room before coming over and nudging his shoulder. Steve hadn’t thought much about it, but maybe it was a sign.

“Oh,” Steve says. “Yeah, dumbo.” Bucky sighs, then looks down. “Look, I get that dating probably isn’t very high on your priority list right now, and that there may be complications from dating me, in particular. So, I’ve waited. But I don’t like sneakin’ around, especially when I know that on a campus of this size somebody’s gonna find out soon enough. We can either go for it, or part as friends now; I won’t hold it against you either way.”

Steve blinks, taking Bucky in. He’s looking away, breathing hard. The worst part is that Bucky looks unhappy, distraught, his lips pressed together in a grimace. It’s so dumb; Steve had been waiting so long to figure out how Bucky felt, that he hadn’t realized  _he_  hadn’t given anything away, either.

“You think your reporters are still at the Stove?” Steve asks.

Bucky looks up, confused but nodding.

—-

“It’s up,” Bucky says from the other side of the bed. Steve groans, pressing Bucky’s pillow to his face.

“The Trustees are gonna kill me,” Steve mutters into the pillow, which just makes Bucky laugh.

“Want me to read it?” Bucky asks. Steve grunts in tired affirmation. Bucky clears his throat, then begins: “Lenyon President Rogers in Relationship With Professor James Barnes.  _The Shrill_  is breaking the story with an exclusive interview taken last night…”

Steve can’t help but smile through all of it.


	33. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky dog sit a magical Pomeranian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hanging out with firstginger while she was dogsitting and somehow this happened.

“It is of the utmost importance that you do _not_ leave this dog alone, Captain.”

Steve looks at the dog. “Does he have a name?”

Doctor Strange sighs. “Jacques-Ignace de la Touche.”

“Pardon?” Bucky asks with a slight French intonation. Steve snorts. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche sticks out its little pink tongue and pants.

Doctor Strange narrows his eyes. “Do you really think so low of me, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky shrugs. “It is a Pomeranian,” he explains, looking down at the panting ball of tan fluff.

“He’s a rescue.”

Jacques-Ignace de la Touche looks up at Bucky with something close to adoration. Bucky looks down with something akin to terror. This will probably be Steve’s favorite mission _ever_.

**…**

“We’re glorified dog sitters,” Bucky complains, collapsing onto their couch. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche trots along behind him, then struggles to get up to where Bucky is with his short little legs. Bucky grins at Jacques-Ignace de la Touche with a mocking sparkle in his eyes. That is until Steve scoops the pup up and plops him down on Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s eyes widen as Jacques-Ignace de la Touche waddles to Bucky’s shoulder and plops down for a little rest, snuggling close to his cheek.

Steve takes out his phone and snaps a picture. Definitely the best mission ever.

“Doctor Strange just needs us to look after the little guy for a week. We’re superheroes. We can handle it.”

“Maybe you can handle it,” Bucky mutters as Steve makes the photo the background of his phone. “But this is the end for me. I can barely take care of myself, let alone an animal.” As if on cue, Jacques-Ignace de la Touche huffs a little in his sleep, breath warm against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky looks up at Steve, half-panicked. “The guy should’ve called _Sam_.”

“Sam’s on vacation in Honolulu. Would you really take that away from him?”

Bucky groans.

“Shh,” Steve responds, sitting on the easy chair next to the couch. “You’ll wake Jacques-Ignace de la Touche.”

**…**

“What’s so special about him?” Bucky asks on Day 3 as he pours water from the Brita filter he bought yesterday for ‘No reason at all Steve, what’s with the interrogation, Jesus Christ you’re so annoying’ into the little white bowl they’ve been using for Jacques-Ignace de la Touche. The pup himself yips at Bucky’s feet, and Bucky pretends to be annoyed as he heads to the fridge to get the home-cooked dog food he’d made the night before out.

“Every living creature is special, Buck. Remember your therapy—“

“Jesus Christ Steve, I’m not gonna murder the little asshole.” He spoons out the food into another piece of Steve’s nice china, then mashes it down so that the depth is equal on all parts before putting it in the microwave. “I’m just wondering how Jacques-Ignace de la Touche ended up with Stephen Strange of all people, that _and_ why we’re never supposed to let him be alone.”

Steve frowns as Bucky putters around the kitchen island, Jacques-Ignace de la Touche following him with as much adoration as usual. If Steve weren’t so smitten with Bucky himself, he may’ve been jealous that the only attention the little pup gives him is when Bucky has physically been out of the house. And usually it’s to make Steve take him to go pee. Anyhow, attention aside, Steve’s been thinking about Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s relationship with Doctor Strange himself. Not that he doesn’t like Doctor Strange, but he doesn’t seem the type to take in a rescue teacup Pomeranian with attention issues.

“Not sure,” Steve admits as the microwave beeps. The noise makes Jacques-Ignace de la Touche give a little growl, which makes Bucky laugh. Steve smirks, and Bucky blushes and scowls, muttering something about, “It was cute Jesus Christ Steve gimme a goddamn break” as he opens the microwave and pokes at the meat, making sure it’s warm enough.

Steve can’t help but wonder if Doctor Strange wouldn’t mind giving them the pup permanently.

**…**

Things are uneventful until Day 6, when a crazed man orders his flock of genetically-engineered ravens to attack the city while he stands atop the point on the Chrystler Building, laughing.

“How does he balance?” Bucky asks, holding a wide-eyed, panting Jacques-Ignace de la Touche. One would think that he’d be nervous, what having Bucky grab him in the middle of the day, take him on a motorcycle, then run around the city with him in one arm, gun in the other, but honestly, Jacques-Ignace de la Touche just seems excited that Bucky is holding him. The dog probably thinks that this is a fun field trip for the two of them, rather than a terrifying, life-or-death experience for the citizens of New York City.

Steve offered to hold him, but Bucky had basically snarled at him.

“How’re we gonna get him down here?” Bucky asks, seemingly flustered for the first time since this battle began. They’ve gotten most of the ravens, but their master seems perfectly content to flail his arms like a bird up there.

“Guess we’ll need to go to him,” Steve says. Bucky groans. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche pants. It’s how things typically are.

**…**

Luckily, Sharon arrives minutes later in (what is probably a stolen, but Steve doesn’t mind) flying car, courtesy of  SHIELD. She flies them up, and for the first time Jacques-Ignace de la Touche looks a little nervous. As they fly upwards, he tries to burrow himself into the leather of Bucky’s tactical vest. Thinking Steve isn’t looking, Bucky strokes Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s head with two fingers, and even though they’re in the middle of a fight, Steve really wishes he had his phone on him so he could take a picture.

“Leave Jacques-Ignace de la Touche with Sharon,” Steve says as they fly closer. The guy can see them now, and his arms are waving even more wildly. Steve can see a flock of the evil ravens begin to congregate behind him, and sighs. “This probably isn’t the best place for him.”

Bucky looks at Steve with wide eyes before looking down to Jacques-Ignace de la Touche. “You be good for Sharon,” he says. They’re looking straight into each other’s eyes with a fierce intensity which, alright, Steve is somewhat jealous of.

Bucky passes Jacques-Ignace de la Touche to Sharon. “Take care of him,” he says before _jumping out of the fucking car_.

Steve swears, and Jacques-Ignace de la Touche yips as they watch Bucky dive onto the bird guy and tackle him.

They start hurtling towards the ground, but before Sharon can turn the car around, Jacques-Ignace de la Touche leaps from Sharon’s grasp. Which is just great, because not only is Steve’s boyfriend possible raven meat, but the dog of the Sorcerer Supreme is joining him. Today sucks. He should’ve let Daredevil handle this.

And then Jacques-Ignace de la Touche curls into a ball and begins emitting a golden light from his fur.

“What the—“ Sharon begins, but is cut off by Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s yip. A yip so magnified and loud that the sound waves shake the car. Sharon yells something to Steve, but he ignores it, leaning over the edge of the convertible to stare at what’s going on below him, because it’s absolutely insane.

Jacques-Ignace de la Touche is floating now, his strange golden aura expanding to cover Bucky and the raven guy. They stop moving, suspended in the air. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche yips again, and Bucky separates from the raven man. He drifts in a cloud of gold back to the car, where he settles gently into Steve’s side before the gold wisps dissipate. Bucky heaves in a large breath. “What?” he asks, looking around, frantic.

“It’s Jacques-Ignace de la Touche,” Steve responds, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulling him in close. He hadn’t realized just how fast his heart had been racing.

And then Bucky pulls away, half-standing to look over the side of the convertible. “Jacques-Ignace de la Touche?” he asks, panicked. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

Steve wishes he could answer that, but frankly, he can’t.

Meanwhile, Jacques-Ignace de la Touche is glowing even more now, eyes turning black as coal. With a great yip, Jacques-Ignace de la Touche seems to explode, raining down fiery gold sparkles onto the raven man, who begins screaming in agony. The gold barrier disappears, and the charred Raven man begins to fall to the street below. Meanwhile, Bucky screams, “Jacques-Ignace de la Touche!” before looking to Steve, helpless and terrified.

Steve stares at Bucky, completely at a loss of how to console Bucky for the explosion of a beloved Pomeranian that didn’t even belong to them. “I—“ he begins, but is stopped by a flash of gold light in front of him, then the small dog that drops onto the carseat between them.

Bucky’s eyes grow wide as he takes in Jacques-Ignace de la Touche, who is panting and staring at Bucky with a wagging tail. Steve is sure that if Jacques-Ignace de la Touche could speak, he’d be asking casually for a treat, as if he didn’t just sort of explode in front of their eyes. Then all at once, tears start pouring from Bucky’s eyes, and he grabs up Jacques-Ignace de la Touche and holds him close to his chest. “You dumb fuckin’ dog,” he says as Steve and Sharon share an uncomfortable giggle, and the swarm of ravens all drop to the ground at once, seemingly dead along with their master.

“Would you mind taking us home?” Steve asks. “I think that dog needs a treat.”

**…**

Sam never quite gets over the fact that Jacques-Ignace de la Touche can keep up with Steve on a run when he can’t.

“A Pomeranian?” he asks as Steve heads over to the tree he’s sitting under, Jacques-Ignace de la Touche at his heels. “C’mon, that’s not fair.”

“Probably not,” Steve says with a shrug.

After the incident at the Chrystler Building, Steve managed to convince Doctor Strange to let him and Bucky keep Jacques-Ignace de la Touche. Well, really Jacques-Ignace de la Touche did the convincing, what with threatening to explode when Doctor Strange tried to take him from Bucky’s arms. Since then, Steve’s gotten used to having the little guy in their life. While Jacques-Ignace de la Touche obviously still prefers Bucky, he seems to like exerting a bit of his magical powers on a daily run with Steve. Bucky likes it too—Steve’s stopped pestering him to wake-up at the crack of dawn to go running together.

“You headed home?” Sam asks as Steve helps him up.

“Nah,” Steve says. “Heading over to the dog park. Bucky’s meeting us there.” Jacques-Ignace de la Touche perks up at the mention of Bucky’s name, little tail wagging.

“Man, the two of you have that in common,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Steve asks, looking down to Jacques-Ignace de la Touche, then back up at Sam.

“That whole perking up thing whenever Bucky is mentioned. It’s pretty gross.”

Steve grins, then bends down to pick Jacques-Ignace de la Touche up. “Then we both have good taste, don’t we, boy?” Jacques-Ignace de la Touche yips in response, then licks the end of Steve’s nose.

Who knew dog sitting would bring him so many good things.


	34. In Case Of Loss, Please Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: stucky au prompt where steve has a moleskine and he accidentally leaves it on the bus or on the subway or in a classroom or wherever, and on the first page under where it says "in case of loss, please return to:" steve had written his name and number, but one of steve's friends had stolen it at some point and under reward wrote something ridiculous like a blowjob or hot sex, and bucky finds it. -anon

_In case of loss, please return to:_

_Steve Rogers_

_107 Hamilton Ave._

_Red Hook, Brooklyn, NYC_

_As a reward: $20 (or a blow job)_

The part in parenthesis is in a different handwriting and crossed out, but still visible. It makes Bucky laugh every time he looks at it.

**_…_ **

Bucky should send it back. He should stick it in a heavy duty mail envelope, stick a couple hundred stamps on it, and send it back to the States. But instead, he keeps the moleskine in his duffel, taking it out to look at on bad nights, ones where he can’t sleep, and aches for the noise of cars honking, and the Atlantic lapping on Coney Island Beach. He looks at the detailed sketches of Brooklyn the most: done in pencil and ink, they’re places he’s never been, but familiar in that generic New York sense. A pizzeria that could have been on his corner, a street of row houses in brick. But he loves the other drawings, too. The charcoal sketch of a cat in motion, made of sweeping lines, an obvious departure from Steve’s typical style. There are portraits of Steve’s friends, too. At first, he felt like a voyeur for looking at them, but eventually the feeling wore off, and he started thinking of their backstories.

There’s “Peggy” who shows up often early on, then in several consecutive crossed-out sketches, and then disappears. Bucky guesses she was Steve’s girl and they broke-up. It was probably Steve’s fault, given the frustration in the thick lines that are scribbled across sketches of her smile. “Natasha,” or “Nat” also shows up quite a bit, serious at first, but increasingly casual through the pages. Sometimes she shows up with “Clint” with an arm around her shoulders, but mostly on her own.

“Sam” probably shows up the most, and there’s such warmth drawn in his eyes that Bucky kind of wishes he could sit down and tell him all his problems. There’re others: “Tony” and “Bruce” in lab coats, “Sharon” and “Maria” in business casual with cups of coffee in their hands and exasperated looks in their eyes, and one sketch of “Brock,” a handsome man with a thick pencil X crossing through him, lines conjoined right over his heart.

But Bucky’s favorites are of, well, Steve. He always writes, “Self-Portrait” then the date. They’re all of these candid-looking, unselfconscious depictions of himself. He’s silly and serious in equal parts, and Bucky wants to look at all of them forever. In “Self-Portrait: January 11” Steve looks like he just woke-up, hair fluffed up like a baby duckling’s. He’s squinting, and it alway makes Bucky smile. His favorite is probably “Self-Portrait: May 15,” where Steve’s wearing a pair of black glasses that kind of eat up his whole face as he looks confused. He’s adorable in all his Self-Portraits, but there’s something wonderful about his thin cheekbones dwarfed by the glasses.

He wonders if they were a prop, or if the real Steve Rogers wears glasses.

**…**

Dum Dum asks about the sketchbook one day. Bucky lies, says it belongs to an old buddy of his, says he gave it to him to look at while he’s overseas. Dum Dum buys it.

**…**

Bucky knows that he should return it. He’s not a bad guy—he doesn’t steal, he doesn’t cheat. And he is planning to give it back, just… After his tour is done. It’s already been a year since he went back home for a week and found the sketchbook wedged between two seats on the subway on his last night in town. It was too late to return it then, and he just kept saying he’d do it tomorrow, until he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

It’s a reason to get back, he tells himself. He’s gonna get out of here, go home, and finally give it back to Steve.

(And meet him.)

**…**

Except things don’t always go as planned.

**…**

Eight months later he stands in front of a row house at dusk. His right hand is shaking. His left hand is gone, along with the rest of his arm. Instead, his prosthetic hangs heavily from midway up his bicep, fake hand in the pocket of his windbreaker. The sketchbook sits in the other pocket of his windbreaker, and all he has to do is ring the doorbell, meet Steve, and give it back.

Assuming he’s home.

Which Bucky will never know unless he  _rings the doorbell_.

He takes a deep breath and does.

And then there’s  _barking_ , which makes Bucky jump, and nearly slip down the step he’s standing on. (There’s a fucking cat in the sketchbook; no  _dog_.) And then there’s a deep voice reprimanding the dog, telling it to be quiet. And the sound of the door unlocking, and Bucky is trying really hard not to hyperventilate, but it’s not working particularly well.

And then the door opens. “Hello?” the guy asks,  _Steve_  asks, from behind the door as he looks Bucky up and down.

He’s wearing the glasses.

“I have your sketchbook,” Bucky says. Steve looks at him blankly. “I’ve, uh, had it for a while. But I was, um, in Iraq.” He can’ look Steve in the eye. Once he was smooth, and could communicate well. Now he’s just… Not who he used to be. “I wanted to, uh… Things weren’t so… I looked at it a lot,” he admits.

“Wait, what?” Steve asks, and Bucky realizes how much deeper his voice is than he expected.

“Sorry, I’m not…” He winces; this is not going well. “My name is Bucky Barnes. Just got back from my second tour overseas. I guess I found it two years ago when I was on leave.” He lowers his voice as he stares at the stoop. “I kept it because you had all those scenes of home, and I missed that. I’m sorry for it.”

Steve gives a small chuckle as he smiles, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. A little blond head pops out by his knees—it’s a dachshund, who yips at Bucky before nudging his head against Steve’s ankle. “Is this the black sketchbook?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods. “I can’t believe it ended up so far away. That’s kind of amazing.”

Bucky swallows. Hard. “I also have to apologize for—“

“Really Bucky, you don’t have to apologize for anything.” Steve looks so kind, and his voice is so, so deep, and Bucky doesn’t want to start crying.

“This one I gotta apologize for, buddy.” He pauses, reaching into his pocket for the book and holds it out to Steve. The cover is half-burned off, and there’s the disgusting brown of dried blood on the first few pages. “It’s not the whole thing, and I can take out the ones that—“

“What happened?” Steve interrupts, looking between the sketchbook and Bucky with furrowed, worried brows.

“IED. My left arm took the brunt of it.” He doesn’t add how he was in the back of the JEEP when it happened, holding the book in that hand.

Steve looks at the sleeve, then back up at Bucky. “I’ll waive the $20 and the blow job since it’s comin’ back in such crappy condition,” Bucky jokes.

And Steve  _grins_. “Doesn’t seem fair,” Steve says, playing with the string of his hoodie. “How about I at least give you a cup of coffee for your trouble?”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks.

“It’s the least I can do,” Steve responds, widening the door and letting Bucky inside while being careful not to let the dog out. Bucky feels lighter than he has in months.

**…**

“So,” Bucky begins, three months later as they lay in bed together. “Was it Clint who wrote the blowjob thing?”

Steve snorts, as he snuggles up to Bucky’s bare chest. “Natasha,” he corrects.

“Really?” Bucky asks, resting his right hand in Steve’s golden hair and stroking it.

“Yup,” Steve responds sleepily before pressing a kiss to Bucky’s chest. “Night Buck,” he says.

“Night Steve,” Bucky whispers, smiling as he shuts his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notallbees drew some fabulous art to go along with this prompt! Check it out here:  
> http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/119775302455/um-so-i-maybe-drew-a-scene-from-that-adorable-wee#notes


	35. Everybody Hurts, Everybody Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a writing meme: Things you said when you were crying & Things you said when I was crying.

**Part I** : Things you said when you were crying

There’s wetness on Steve’s cheeks. They’re watching the news on the television, and the little rolling bar at the bottom screen announces in large font: GABRIEL “GABE” JONES, HOWLING COMMANDO, DIES AT AGE 97. There is a picture of a smiling black man in a military uniform, then a flashing picture of him as an old man, smiling in a wheelchair and surrounded by others. There is a Captain America balloon in the background that shows a cartoon Steve giving a thumbs up and saying, “Happy birthday!” in a speech bubble.

Bucky wants Steve to laugh and smile at the balloon, and turns to point it out, but Steve just makes a noise like he’s strangling. Immediately, Bucky closes the space between them on the couch. “If you are choking, bang a hand on your leg,” Bucky instructs.

“Not choking, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. He reaches out with his flesh hand and touches the water on Steve’s cheeks. They’re rosier than usual, and warm to the touch. He lets a drop fall onto his finger, then pulls away, wiping his hand on his jeans. He knows what crying is, objectively. There are flashes in his memory, of people on bended knee with tears streaming down their cheeks, voices cracking as they beg. But Bucky doesn’t want to think of those things right now, and tries to shut his eyes, count to ten, and forget them.

But his counting is cut short.

“Bucky?” Steve asks. Bucky turns and nods, an affirmation. “Bucky, I know that things’re…” He swallows hard, and Bucky glances at the screen again, feeling angry at this man who is causing Steve to be upset. “Buck no,” Steve says, soft. “He was our friend, Bucky. One of the Howlies.”

“Howlies,” Bucky repeats, and Steve nods, quiet and kind despite his own distress. “We fought with them.”

“Alongside.” Bucky nods. “Buck, can you do something for me?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, quick, automatic. He has never been in the business of telling Steve Rogers “no.”

“Can you just…” He looks down, and despite Steve’s typical inarticulateness, there is a rumbling in him that has always known what Steve is asking for.

He reaches up and puts a hand on Steve’s neck, guiding him down so that his face is gently pressed against the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. When Steve is settled, he wraps his arms around Steve. Soft at first, but when Steve makes a loud, unhappy noise as he burrows his nose into Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky holds on tighter. After a few minutes of tears, the news changes stories, and Steve’s breathing evens out. Eventually, Steve lifts his head, pressing it to the side of Bucky’s head. Bucky can feel his nose in his hair. It tickles, just a little, but it’s not bad. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Steve says. His voice is rough, and Bucky thinks he is still crying, even if he cannot see him. “Bucky, I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

“Me too,” Bucky says in a small voice. “Me too.”

**Part II** : Things you said when I was crying

Bucky curls up in the corner of the quinjet. His face is streaked with blood—not his—and he has a nasty gash on his leg that should be tended to. But he feels a certain numbness as he stumbles inside and goes to the jet’s darkest corner to curl-up, making himself as small as possible.

Distantly, he can hear Wanda upset at what she had done to Bucky by mistake. He will need to speak to her at some point, to tell her that he understands manipulation, and will not hold what she did to him against her. But that moment is not now, because he is not sure he can speak to anyone right now with the visions she made him see wreaking havoc on his mind.

“How far is Cap?” Stark asks to the machine, who responds. Bucky buries his face into his knees. He does not want Steve to see him like this. Yet, after a period of time—two hours, thirty-six minutes, says the internal clock he was programmed with and cannot shut off—there are footsteps, and then there is Steve, warm and large, He bends down, whispers, “Bucky?”

Bucky makes a choked-off noise. So vulnerable. He cannot be vulnerable when Steve is near—he needs to protect—

Steve’s large hand is in his hair, stroking through its knots. Bucky shivers. “Tony told me what happened, Buck,” Steve says. He shifts, and takes his hand out of Bucky’s hair. Bucky whimpers, as Steve arranges himself next to him. The noise fills Bucky with a hot wave of shame and embarrassment, but then Steve is taking his hand from his knee and holding it. It is his metal hand. Steve holds it as if it were tender, breakable. “I don’t know what you saw, Buck—“ Visions of fire and splattering blood, of a helicarrier destroyed, and Steve, big and small, rejecting him, leaving him, dying because of him. “—But they weren’t real.

“I know that it’s terrifying. A while ago, Wanda made me see things that haunted me for months, Buck. Terrified me until you found me. So I think I understand a little bit what it’s like to have that happen.” Bucky wants him closer, but he only touches Bucky’s hand. “I won’t pry, Buck. I won’t ask you what you saw. But you need to know that whatever it was isn’t real. You control yourself now. You can keep those things from happening.”

“I just,” Bucky begins, then stops. He lifts his head and looks at Steve. He is in civilian clothes—it was supposed to be a short, small mission; Captain America was not needed—and looking at Bucky with wide, concerned eyes. Bucky wants to speak, but is surprised by the noise that comes from his throat when he tries.

And then, there is wetness on his cheeks, and his vision is compromised. Objectively, he knows what this is. He just did not know that he was capable of tears.

Steve reaches out with a shaky hand and wipes the tears from Bucky’s cheeks. “You’re home, Buck. You’re with me.”

“I want to be with you,” Bucky says. “I want us to stay together.”

“Me too,” Steve says.

“And I…” It is difficult to speak; there is something heavy in his throat. But he continues in a whisper, “I’m glad. To be here with you.”

Through his tears, Bucky can see that Steve’s eyes are welling up, as well. But he’s smiling, and reaching around Bucky’s shoulders to pull him in for a tight hug.

And Bucky feels okay.


	36. Alpha Beta Omega (It's All Greek to Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> firstginger offered me $5 and a large strawberry milkshake to write 5,000 words of omegaverse. This clocks in at 5,174. I still haven't gotten my milkshake.

Bucky throws up into the quinjet’s toilet. It’s kind of gross—despite all the resources Stark has at his disposal, it doesn’t seem like a cleaning staff for the jet is in the budget. But Bucky guess it doesn’t matter, since he’s making a bigger mess than anyone else.

There’s barf everywhere.

“Shit,” Bucky says, gagging a little from the smell of his own barf. All in all, not an ideal situation.

There’s a knock on the door. “Buck?”

“Shit shit,” Bucky repeats under his breath, trying to stand up. A wave of nausea hits him and he stumbles against the sink, metal arm clanging the metal of the sink.

“Bucky?” Steve repeats, sounding hilariously worried.

He wants to say that he is, but instead he clutches his stomach and groans. God, he hasn’t felt well in  _days_. Isn’t his serum supposed to burn through bugs like this in a matter of hours? He’s been tossing his cookies for a few days, and has felt these endless waves of nausea for longer.

“Bucky, I’m coming in.”

“Steve—“

But it’s too late. Steve opens the door and takes in Bucky, slumped against the sink, and the puke he hadn’t even flushed yet. “We’re going to the doctor,” Steve decides, all tall and stoic and American.

Bucky groans, but not because he’s in pain.

**…**

True to his word, they’re heading to a doctor’s office mere minutes after they disembark in New York. Stark’s let them use one of his drivers—and it shows just how serious Steve is about the whole thing. “I’m fine,” Bucky tries to argue as they sit in the back. “Really, it was just for a few minutes.”

“This isn’t the first time it’s happened, Buck,” Steve says, crossing his arms. Bucky frowns; he thought he had kept it from Steve. “Yeah,” Steve says. “I noticed.”

“It’s a bug,” Bucky mutters. He sighs. “And it’s been comin’ in waves. I’ll be sick in the morning, then I’ll be fine in an hour…”

Steve looks at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Morning?” he asks.

Bucky shrugs. “A few times.”

Frowning, Steve reaches across Bucky’s shoulders and pulls him in close. Bucky shuts his eye and relaxes against Steve’s shoulder. But then Steve’s giving him a territorial little sniff, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “C’mon Steve,” Bucky says, soft and frankly, a little embarrassed. Does Steve think he’s got another alpha’s scent on him? The two of them knotted back in the 1930s. Bucky’s been Steve’s beta for a long, long time.

“Just checking something,” Steve says, frowning. He reaches up and runs a hand through Bucky’s hair. Bucky shuts his eyes and makes a whining noise from the back of his throat. Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “Soon,” Steve says, low and authoritative, and it sends a shiver down Bucky’s spine.

They stay wrapped up in each other until they get to the doctor’s office. Steve seems to have called ahead; when they get to the front desk, a nurse ushers him in, assuring them that the information Steve sent in from his StarkPad came in just fine. Bucky undresses and puts on the stupid little paper gown. It feels a little tight against his stomach, and Bucky frowns. He rests a hand on his stomach, and he can feel Steve tense from across the room.

Bucky perks up, but before he can ask what’s wrong, a nurse comes in. “We’re just going to go through the normal check-up agenda,” she says, smiling as Bucky stands up. She weighs him—he’s gained a few, but she says it’s good for him, since he was underweight before—and makes Bucky piss in a cup.

Which isn’t an issue—Bucky feels like he needs to pee  _constantly_ lately. He blames this little app he’s got on his phone. When you drink a glass of water you get to water a little fake plant. He’s got a cactus he’s growing right now. It smiles at him.

“We’ll be back soon, Sergeant,” she says. “Dr. Rodriguez will have the results of your urine test.”

Bucky nods, and she leaves.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, face not revealing anything.

Bucky shrugs. “Fine,” he says. “A little cold.”

Steve crosses the room in a few strides. He shrugs his leather jacket off his shoulders and drapes it around Bucky’s. He also wraps his arms around Bucky and presses his nose against Bucky’s hair again. Sure, Steve is a bit territorial—all alphas are—but to sniff him so much so quickly is odd. There must be something different about Bucky’s scent, because he’s sure Steve would talk to him if he thought he were sleeping around. Bucky’s heart quickens just a bit—maybe there’s a reason Steve dragged him to the doctor, maybe—

“Shh,” Steve says, placing a calming hand a the back of Bucky’s neck. “It’s alright,” he says.

Bucky settles, shutting his eyes and just breathing.

It’s about ten minutes, and then Dr. Rodriguez heads in. He’s grinning, looking from Steve and Bucky and back down to his clipboard. “Well, congratulations Sergeant,” he says with a knowing smirk. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. He glances up at Steve, who is staring at Dr. Rodriguez with his concerned captain face.

Bucky looks back at Dr. Rodriguez, whose grin is fading. “What?” Bucky asks, voice cracking.

“Oh, I… I assumed you would have realized,” the doctor begins, glancing through Bucky’s records. “I assumed that was why you came in today.”

“Realized what?” Bucky asks, heart rate quickening again. God, if he’s sick now, so soon after he and Steve were reunited, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Well Sergeant, you’re pregnant.”

Um.

What?

Steve’s hand tightens against Bucky’s neck. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s just a reminder of how not possible this situation is.

“There must be a mistake,” Bucky says. “I’m a beta,” he adds slowly, because he’s sure that should be on his records.

The doctor shakes his head. “It’s unusual, but your initial assessment must have been wrong. Technology for deciphering one’s status was less accurate prior to the 1970s.” He frowns. “I’m sorry this is coming as a shock, but the reality of the situation is that you are pregnant, Sergeant.” He glances up at Steve, when he realizes Bucky isn’t even looking at him anymore, just staring at the beige floor. “Your partner is healthy, but you should take him in to see a specialist sooner rather than later. First time omega fathers may have some complications during their pregnancy, especially given Sergeant Barnes’ past medical trials, he will need to make periodic check-ups, and if anything seems to go wrong, you should…”

Bucky tunes the chattering out. Distantly, he recognizes Dr. Rodriguez taking his blood pressure, pressing at his stomach. When Bucky squints down on it, he can see that it’s a little taut, a bit rounder. He swallows hard.

Dr. Rodriguez leaves them with a bottle of prenatal vitamins, and a few referrals for OBGYNs. He says he’ll give them, “A few minutes alone” before he steps out.

“Did you know?” Bucky asks, looking up at Steve with wide eyes.

Steve looks down. “You’ve smelled different,” he admits. Bucky deflates. Steve kneels down, resting one hand on Bucky’s knee, and reaching up with the other to cup Bucky’s face. “But Bucky, this is… It’s amazing,” he says, and Bucky realizes that he’s, well,  _grinning_. He squeezes Bucky’s knee. “You’re pregnant, Buck. You’re…” He trails off, looking down at Bucky’s belly. “Can I?” he asks.

“Um,” Bucky says, looking down at his stomach himself. “I guess?”

Steve takes a shuddering breath before moving his hand from Bucky’s face. He lets it hover in air for a moment, before tentatively reaching out. He rests his fingers against Bucky’s stomach. “Hi there,” he says, softly to Bucky’s belly button. “Hey little pup.”

It should sound corny, but Bucky feels his heart rate decrease. Steve strokes his stomach a few times, looking up at Bucky with a watery smile. “We’re gonna have a baby,” Steve says. “Bucky, you’re gonna be a daddy.”

Bucky snorts. “Kinda hard to believe,” he admits. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

“It’s wonderful,” Steve says. He leans up and presses a gentle kiss on Bucky’s stomach. Looking down at Steve’s golden mop of hair, he can’t help but smile just a little. If anyone deserves to be a father in this world, it’s Steve Rogers. So good, and pure and beautiful—who wouldn’t want to grow up with Captain America as their daddy?

“You’re two and a half months along,” Steve says, and Bucky is glad—he had missed Dr. Rodriguez saying that. “When do you want to tell everyone?”

“Can we…” Bucky winces a little. “Wait a little? At least a month?”

“‘Course,” Steve says, resting a gentle, protective hand on Bucky’s stomach. “Whatever you want, Buck.”

“I’m gonna have a pup,” he says, soft.

“Yeah Buck, you’re gonna have a pup.”

Maybe Bucky doesn’t mind so much when Steve’s the one telling him.

**…**

“I smelled it on you,” Steve says that night, curled around Bucky. “I thought I knew what it was, but thought it wasn’t possible.”

“Still seems unreal,” Bucky responds.

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “We always do.”

**…**

Except Bucky needs to figure it out soon, because he has a bad feeling about all of this.

Natasha’s been away on a mission for some time, but is back in New York for at least a few weeks. That morning, Bucky heads across town to her apartment, pausing briefly to say hello to the little black cat that Natasha pretends she doesn’t love. He heads inside and up to her apartment—the door is open; leave it to her to know he was coming without him even so much as sending a text beforehand.

“Congratulations,” she says once he’s shutting the door behind him.

He winces. “How’d you—“

“Smelled it,” she says. Natasha is an alpha with the keenest sense of smell Bucky’s ever seen. Neither of them ask how she got it. “How far along?”

“Almost three months,” he says, sitting on her couch.

“Size of a kumquat,” she responds, looking down at his belly. He guesses he’ll have to get used to the feeling of eyes there, but it still makes him feel a little self-conscious.

Resisting the urge to press a hand to his stomach, he looks Natasha straight in the eye. “Was I an omega when I met you? Back then?”

She leans back in her seat, lacing her fingers together and resting them on her lap. “Yes,” she says. “You were.” He sighs, a tenseness in his body relaxing. Then maybe they were wrong, when they did those tests back in the twenties. Maybe they—

“But you didn’t come to the Red Room as one.”

He looks up, sharp. “What?” he asks.

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “It was standard procedure,” she explains. “They messed with all of us. Make the women alphas, so they were strong, and lost the maternal instinct. Make the men omegas, so they’d be subservient and loyal to the mother country.” She looks up, and something in her eyes is fierce. “Though, I don’t think they ever anticipated one of their omegas actually getting knocked up.”

Bucky swallows hard, and finally gives in to the urge to touch his stomach. “Do you think it will be—“

“I couldn’t tell you James,” she says, tone shifting to something Bucky can’t quite decipher as she stands. She heads to the kitchenette on the other side of the room. “You have the serum, which I think would help. Plus I’m guessing Cap’s the father.”

“Of course!” Bucky says, standing up to follow her.

“Then you should be fine. Any complications from what they did to you should be cleared up by your super healing. In fact, I’d be surprised if that pup wasn’t a bit of a superhero when it comes out.” She heads to the coffeemaker, and the smell makes Bucky salivate. As if reading his mind, Natasha smirks. “No caffeine, James,” she says, grabbing a mug from the edge of the sink and filling it up.

“The next six months just got a lot longer,” Bucky says, staring longingly at her brew.

“But you get to have a pup your mate,” she says. Bucky nods, walking around her to grab a cup from a cabinet. He heads to the sink and fills it with water.

“I don’t know what to say,” Bucky admits. “It’s not like I could ever like anything they did to me, but this feels… I’m happy. That I get to be with Steve, that we get to start a family together. I guess I never thought of it because it was never an option for the two of us, but,” he pauses, taking a sip of his drink. “Steve will be a good dad.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Natasha asks. “About the Red Room?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Let’s just let him think it’s a miracle,” he says quietly. “He’ll be happier that way.”

She pauses, looking like she wants to say something. But she just ends up nodding before taking a long sip of steaming coffee. “It’s your prerogative,” she says.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “It is.”

**…**

Things seem to start to move in fast motion after that. Steve whisks Bucky to an OBGYN that afternoon who confirms that, yes, Bucky is pregnant. Soon his head is being filled with information and warnings about what he should and should not do over the next six months, and being prodded all over with invasive questions about his lifestyle. Steve stands next to him the whole time, tall and proud, radiating an aura of calm concern. Whenever one of the doctors ask something that Bucky doesn’t like, Steve answers for him.

Bucky wonders, distantly, if there’s ever been an alpha who took care of his omega as much as Steve takes care of him.

When the appointment is over, Steve takes him out for lunch, urging Bucky to eat as much as he can. “We’re making up for lost time,” he says. “Since we didn’t know you were eating for two.” The smile Steve gives him makes Bucky feel warm and happy all over; squirming in his seat from the approval and love. All of it almost feels like too much—too much luckiness, and joy, especially given how he ended up being the way he is. But he eats his spaghetti and meatballs, and touches Steve’s foot underneath the table with his own.

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Steve adds, and Bucky wants to melt.

**…**

They spend one happy week, then of course slime monsters are threatening to eat the John Hancock Building in Chicago. “What’re you doing?” Steve asks as Bucky tries to get the last buckle of his vest to click. He’s not noticeably showing yet, but it’s enough that his clothes have been tighter, and his already skin-tight leather tactical vest did not want to come around his baby bump.

“Getting ready,” Bucky responds, leaning down to do up his leather boot. This won’t be so easy in a few months with a big belly in the way, but for now he manages to bend down and start lacing.

“You’re not coming with us,” Steve orders, and it bristles down Bucky’s spine.

Typically, he wouldn’t argue when Steve is authoritative, but there are slime monsters on the Magnificent Mile, probably eating tourists wearing Louis Vuitton. “Steve—“ he begins, straightening up.

He’s almost blindsided by Steve, closing the space between them. He kisses Bucky harsh, until Bucky is breathless and limp against Steve’s body. When Steve pulls away, a whine comes from the back of Bucky’s throat, which makes Steve chuckle, deep and sexy. “God,” Steve says, running a hand through Bucky’s hair. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s torso and pulls him in tight. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You’re not gonna,” Bucky says. “I’m comin’ with—“

“No,” Steve repeats. Bucky buries his head into Steve’s shoulder. “I know you want to do the right thing, and I’m proud of you. But we need to think of our pup, not just ourselves.”

“I don’t want you to go, then,” Bucky says, and he knows it’s selfish. “Every time you go out that door, you’re riskin’ your life, and I…” His throat threatens to close up, but he wills himself to keep speaking through it. “I can’t raise this pup alone.”

“Buck,” Steve says, placing one hand on the back of Bucky’s head, and one on his lower back, pulling him in closer, ever closer. “I’m going to come home alright. We both know I’m tough to kill.”

“Doesn’t stop you from trying.”

There’s a beat.

“Bucky, let’s have a big party when I get back, tell everyone. Okay? We’ll have a cake, and balloons, and—“

“Jesus Rogers, you’re such a sap,” Bucky says, pulling away. Except Steve pulls him closer again for one final squeeze.

“I’m coming back,” Steve promises.

“You better.”

“So, goodbye,” Steve says, kissing Bucky again. It’s lost its fierce intensity from before, but it’s no less urgent. Just slow, and wonderful, and makes Bucky feel weak at the knees. Then Steve plops down to his knees. He puts a hand on either side of Bucky’s torso. “Goodbye, little one,” he says, before laying a delicate kiss on the slight convex curve of Bucky’s stomach. He looks up at Bucky. “Margaret, if it’s a girl.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So Dum Dum if it’s a boy?”

“She’ll be a girl,” Steve says, resting his forehead against Bucky’s stomach. “I know it.”

**…**

Three heart wrenching, stressful days later, and Steve comes home.

And much to Bucky’s irritation, he hasn’t given up his plans for a party.

They plan it for the next day. It won’t be huge—mostly just for Avengers and associated persons—and Bucky got to choose the food, so it’s pizza and hot wings from the Italian place down the street. Bucky also makes the hard press for no alcohol because “if I don’t get to have fun then nobody should,” but Steve vetoes that one.

“Champagne,” he says. “We’re gonna have champagne.”

“With pizza?” Bucky asks, making a face.

“Yeah,” Steve says, pulling him close to his side. “With pizza.”

“Gross,” Bucky says.

“Good thing you don’t get to have any.”

Bucky grunts, and his stomach rumbles, and Steve whisks him away for brunch.

**…**

“I’ve been thinking,” Steve says that night as he runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair again, and again, and again.

Half-asleep, Bucky mutters, “First time for everything.”

Steve chuckles, but pulls away to grab for something on the night stand. Bucky whines, because suddenly his big, warm boyfriend isn’t next to him and it’s cold without him. He’s back soon enough, but the hair stroking doesn’t continue. “I’ve been thinking,” Steve continues softly, “That we are devoted to each other.”

“When was the first time we knotted, Steve? 1938?” It had been a shock for everyone when the doctors told Steve he was an alpha at age twelve. He had gone into heat for the first time, and he’d had a bad asthma attack from it. Everyone was so confused—Steve seemed a likely candidate to be an omega, and no one would’ve expected an alpha. Even the doctor was concerned, wanted to run a few tests to make sure.

Somewhere, Bucky had always already assumed that Steve was an alpha. Bucky’d been his from the very start.

“ _So_ ,” Steve says, gently nudging Bucky out of his thoughts. “I thought that we may want to make things a bit more legal.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we should get married.”

Bucky stiffens. “It’s legal now, Buck. And we wouldn’t need anything fancy. We could head to the courthouse before the party tomorrow, just bring Sam and Natasha along with us. It would be so quick, Bucky.” He pauses. “We don’t have to, and I don’t want to force you into it.”

“I want to marry you,” Bucky says. It all feels like so much. “I want to be your husband, and I want you to be mine.”

“God Bucky,” Steve says. “Say it again.”

It’s an order, one that Bucky is happy to comply with. “I want to get married, Steve,” he says.

Steve grins, then reaches out. He takes Bucky’s right hand—the flesh hand—and slips a ring onto his fourth finger. “We’ll get Stark to add a gold plate to your left arm soon,” Steve says. “But this will have to do for now.”

“I don’t have one for you,” Bucky says, suddenly panicked.

Steve rests a hand on the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, I got one for myself, too.”

Bucky curls up against Steve, his alpha, his fiancée, the father of his pup. “We’re gettin’ married,” he says quietly to Steve’s side.

“Yeah Buck,” Steve responds. “We are.”

**…**

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

**…**

Almost six months in, and Bucky feels  _huge_. His ankles and back hurt, none of his clothes fit correctly, and he’s sure that he’s going to pop any second now, even though he has three whole months to get bigger.

“You’re not even big yet,” Steve says, patting Bucky’s stomach one morning. They have a bit of a ceremony for the whole thing. Steve wakes-up, goes for a run, then gets back and gets into the shower. Bucky gets to sleep in however late he wants. Originally he’d be up anyway with morning sickness, but after a while that’s faded. Sure, he still feels nauseous, and half the food that he sees makes him want to chuck—Natasha’s stuff, especially—but now he sleeps in.

Once Steve gets out of the shower he makes them breakfast, since Bucky usually wakes-up around that time. They eat together, and then spend the day as they like. Bucky doesn’t go on missions anymore—for obvious reasons; he never thought the Winter Soldier would waddle with a hand on his distended belly—and he doesn’t even head to Stark Tower anymore. He’s not a weapon right now.

That feels nice.

Even if he’s  _sore_.

“How’re you feeling baby?” Steve asks that morning after his shower, plopping into bed next to Bucky.

“Who’re you talkin’ to?” Bucky asks. “Me, or…” He pas his stomach twice before resting his hand on the curve of his stomach.

Steve smiles, resting his hand on top of Bucky’s. “Both?”

Bucky groans. “Can’t wait until this pup is out of me.”

Steve leans in with a tinkle in his eye. “Me too,” he says before kissing Bucky.

It’s searingly hot, and despite how fat and sore Bucky feels, it’s the first time he’s felt  _like that_ since he found out he was pregnant.

And then Steve’s StarkPhone is ringing and Bucky flops back down, groaning.

Whatever, not like he could get laid with a pup inside him. It was a nice thought while it lasted, though.

Steve apologizes, then heads out of the room. Stark makes Bucky’s blood boil, and the last thing anyone wants is for Bucky to get upset. Deep down, Bucky knows that Steve is babying him, but it’s nice, in a way. In a lot of ways. It’s nice to have Steve’s big hands rub coconut oil onto his belly. It’s nice when Steve runs out at two in the morning because Bucky wants a certain brand of pickle, and when Steve comes back with the pickles  _and_  a peanut butter milkshake, because he’s the greatest husband of all time.

But it’s not so great when Steve comes into the room a few minutes later, face looking ashen.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, hauling himself up. Before he can even get halfway there, Steve is at his side, a hand on his lower back, gently guiding him to a sitting position against the headboard.

Once Bucky is situated, Steve crosses his arms and turns around, looking out the window of their bedroom. “Just got off the phone with Stark,” he says.

“Usually that just makes you pissed off, not…” He trails off. He can’t quite place what Steve seems like right now.

“Did you know?” Steve asks, and Bucky’s heart hammers. They’ve already talked through Howard and Maria Stark’s deaths—Steve had told him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was a sad thing, but not something he could have prevented. Maybe he changed his mind, maybe now he’s… “About how you became an omega?”

Oh.

Phew.

Bucky takes a moment to collect himself. He doesn’t want his voice to shake when he answers.

“Not when we went to the hospital,” Bucky said. “It was a surprise.” Steve glances behind him, then back out to the window. Bucky continues, “But I went to talk to Natasha after.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Steve says, and it’s not a question.

“It was…” Bucky frowns. “I can’t say that anything HYDRA or the Red Room did to me was a good thing. I could never say that. But this pup,” Bucky says, smoothing his hand over his stomach. “He or she is a good thing. And I don’t want you to stop thinking they are just because they came from a bad thing.” He sighs, shutting his eyes briefly. He wants to count to ten like his therapist told him to, but he needs to keep speaking, needs to make Steve understand. “Maybe I should’ve told you, but I just wanted to have this good thing. I wanted us to have it.”

He opens his eyes to see that Steve has turned around, arms limp at his sides. “Buck,” he says. “Buck,” he repeats, shaking his head a little. “No matter how you became an omega, our pup is going to be beautiful.” He smiles a little bit. “She will be.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He’s opted to not know the baby’s gender—figures it’s no one’s business until the little one is out of him and screaming its lungs off.

Steve, on the other hand, is convinced the pup is going to be a girl.

Which Bucky wouldn’t mind, but he’s worried that once the pup is out in the real world, Steve will be disappointed if it’s a he. (Which he gets is a silly fear, alright But he’s tired, emotional and sore, and he just wants to know that everything is going to go perfectly.)

“Don’t get me wrong,” Steve continues, face falling again. “I’m angry with you, but I’m also angry with myself. I want you to be open with me; this was a big secret to keep, and one that, in all honesty, doesn’t seem so big in the grand scheme of things, and of what happened to you. That being said, I also want to be a person you feel like you can talk to.” He pauses to sigh. “I don’t know what to do, Buck,” he adds, soft. “What do I need to change for you to feel like you can be honest with me?” he asks, and from anyone else it would come out passive aggressive, but Steve oozes sincere insecurity, and Bucky wants to cry.

So he does. Just a little. Hormones, y’know?

“Bucky—“

“No Steve, please,” he says. “You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. I… It’s not you, alright? I’m just all fucked-up, and I can’t—“

“Buck,” Steve says, firm. It’s an order of sorts, and Bucky shuts his mouth. Steve crosses the room and sits next to Bucky. He rests a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, and Bucky relaxes into him. His alpha. His  _husband_. “We’ll be okay,” he says, moving his arm around Bucky’s middle and pulling him close. “We’re alright.”

**…**

Bucky is ready to burst.

A week past the expected due date, and Bucky never wants to get out of bed.

They’ve spent the past three weeks in their new apartment—a brownstone in Brooklyn. It’s in a safe neighborhood and has a yard, something important to Steve. “Don’t want our pup to run around the streets like we did, Buck,” Steve insisted as they had trekked from property to property. Bucky hadn’t argued—he likes the idea of some green space where he can watch Steve play catch with him or her (Steve is still sure it’s a her, but Bucky isn’t convinced).

They’ve spent the past few weeks making sure that the place is baby safe, and decorating the nursery. They decided on mint for the theme. Steve built the crib himself, once he read about all the different and exciting ways your poorly-made plastic crib can kill your pup. It’s a beautiful crib: made of wood and painted white with non-toxic paint, of course. When Steve had presented it to him, Bucky beamed and teared up.

God, Steve’s gonna be such a great daddy.

Once, of course, the pup decides to stop kicking his gut and decides to come out and face the real world.

Steve grins as he brings Bucky a stack of grilled cheese that he whipped up when he heard Bucky grumbling about being hungry earlier. The doctor’s put him on bed rest since the move—she hadn’t been pleased when he told her that he was moving heavy furniture in his compromised state, but Steve did do most of the heavy lifting, and regardless of how big his stomach is, Bucky is still, y’know, a super soldier with a metal arm.

An arm that begins whirring as Bucky drops the plate of sandwiches and grabs his stomach. He groans.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, but it sounds distant. Bucky is in so much pain. “We have to go to the hospital,” Steve says, and Bucky lets his husband lead the way.

**…**

Everyone who says childbirth hurts was  _so right_. But when it’s finally over, Bucky holds Margaret Sarah Rogers in his arms, and kisses the little tuft of blonde hair at the top of her sleepy head. And he is so, so, so in love with the most wonderful pup on the planet.

**…**

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

**…**

“Is Madge sleepin’?” Bucky asks when Steve opens the door. It’s dark and Bucky’s in bed, but he hasn’t fallen asleep yet. Mostly because Madge—not Peggy, since that’d be a little  _too_  weird—has been screaming her tiny lungs out.

“Finally,” Steve says, stripping down to his boxers and climbing into bed. He leans over Bucky, and while Bucky was thinking of sleep just a few seconds ago, his mind travels southward quickly. “It’s been a while,” Steve says.

“Nine months,” Bucky responds, raising an eyebrow. “You even remember how to do it?”

Steve grins. “‘Course I do,” he says. “Want me to show you?”

“C’mon big guy,” Bucky says, and in that moment, Bucky has everything. He has his alpha, he has his pup, and he has the life that he always dreamed of.


	37. Call Off Your Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ghost!steve or ghost!bucky whichever. one of them attempting to haunt-woo the other living one with mixed results. --seaghostsoaring

A tiny hipster moves into Bucky’s apartment, which makes Bucky sigh. He could deal with the divorcee who listened to nothing but Simon & Garfunkel, but this guy seems like he likes St. Vincent, and Bucky isn’t sure he can deal with that longterm. He has nothing against Annie Lennox as a person, but he kind of hates her music. It’s like a banshee wailing—ethereal, but annoying. His wistful hopes that the kid brought those huge headphones that he sees on TV are dashed when he notices the stereo system—the only expensive-looking thing in the place—being gingerly taken out of a moving box by his long fingers.

It’s going to be a rough stay.

**—**

So, Bucky’s a ghost. He’s been a ghost since he died in Italy in 1944, defending the world from fascism. But when he—for lack of a better phrase—woke-up, he was back in his apartment in Red Hook, Brooklyn, watching his little sister and ma tearfully pack up his life and stick it into his army trunk. He doesn’t know where the trunk is, and doesn’t know what happened to them. Sometimes he minds, but most of the time he knows that it’s probably a good thing.

Since then, he’s seen a lot of people come in and out of this place. It took him a while, but Bucky’s gotten a hold of the whole ghost thing. He can touch things, make them move, but he’s never been able to talk to an inhabitant. Not Ricardo, when he was crying over his secret boyfriend. Not Lucy, right before she was about to OD. Not even Stanley, the place’s last inhabitant, who spent a lot of time writing mean comments on Jezebel articles since he was so lonely and self-loathing.

Frankly, the whole ghost thing has gotten a lot less boring since the Internet was invented. Stanley left his laptop home most days, and Bucky liked to watch Netflix. He’s a big fan of  _Don’t Trust the B- in Apartment 23_. He wishes it was never cancelled, but he guesses that ghosts don’t really help ratings. Anyway, Bucky just hopes this new guy leaves his laptop around. It’s a Mac, and Bucky’s heard that those are better than Stanley’s clunky PC.

But this isn’t  _Beetlejuice_ —one of Stanley’s favorites—and there isn’t any manual to being a host. Bucky’s found out the hard way that he can’t leave, and apparently he can’t die. He’d like to, you know, move on, but he’s stuck. And he doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he’s been stuck in this damn apartment for what feels like forever, and every day’s been the same for the past seventy years.

**—**

That is, until the day that it’s not.

Steve—the tiny, asthmatic hipster’s name—is on the couch watching a documentary about tattooing. Bucky sits on the opposite side of Steve’s couch to watch with him. Apparently Steve graduated from NYU and has a job at a local art gallery, so he’s always watching stuff about artists or other handicrafts. It’s a hell of a lot more interesting than Stanley’s all-day  _Golden Girls_ marathons. Bucky enjoyed the show the first time around, but after the 4th it got pretty irritating.

Steve watches much more interesting stuff.

Steve is a lot more interesting.

Steve is—

“ _What the fuck?_ ”

Steve is looking in his direction, and Bucky glances behind him to see what is different. But there’s… nothing. Just the abstract painting Steve had hung up after he moved in. Shrugging, Bucy looks back to Steve, and if he weren’t so sure that there was  _no way_  Steve could see him, he’d swear that Steve is gaping at him.

“ _How the fuck did you get into my apartment?_ ” Steve asks, and his hands are shaking. Bucky glances around, but he’s  _sure_ that there’s no one else here. The tattoo show is still playing in the background, voices fuzzy from Bucky’s confusion. “And why,” Steve asks, seeming to calm down just a bit voice quieter, “Are you wearing a vintage army uniform?”

Bucky glances down at his dress uniform, which he assumes he was buried in, then back at Steve.

“Shit,” he says, voice cracking from disuse. “You can see me?”

And that’s when Steve passes out.

**—-**

Bucky has a glass of water and some aspirin out for when Steve wakes-up, then hovers, worried. He feels twitchy and strange,  _alive_ , says some distant voice in the back of his head, as he watches Steve. For the first time in forever, time feels short, important. He can’t  _wait_  for Steve to wake-up, can’t  _wait_  to see if it was him Steve was looking at, talking to. His fingers tap the edge of the couch, his foot stomps a beat on the wood floor. He needs to know, and he needs to know  _now_.

When Steve wakes-up, it takes everything in Bucky not to run over, take him by the shoulders, and shake him just to see if he can. But he doesn’t. Instead he hovers on the other side of the room, and waits for Steve to notice him.

“You’re the ghost, aren’t you?” Steve asks, voice a little shaky, but low.

“Um,” Bucky says. “I guess so.” Damn, he thought he’d be smoother. He hasn’t had to talk to, let alone impress, someone for seventy years, and his voice feels rusty.

Steve looks him up and down. “There were rumors that this place was haunted.”

Bucky frowns. He didn’t think he was a  _bad_  ghost, by any means. So he says as much. “I’ve been here for a while.”

Then Steve  _smiles_. “Were you really using Stanley’s Netflix account?”

Bucky can’t help but grin back. “Eternity gets boring and all that.”

“But Stanley said he couldn’t see you.”

Bucky’s face falls. “You’re the first one,” he says, throat dry. He wonders if he can drink water; he hasn’t tried. “No one’s been able to see me before today.”

“Well,” Steve begins. “Presumably when you were alive…”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Well yeah when I was alive, but that was in 1944.”

Steve blinks. “You’ve been here since the 40s?” he asks. Bucky nods. “Did you die here?”

“No, Italy.” Steve gives him a confused look. “Fightin’ Mussolini and all that.” He pauses. “I was bleedin’ out my arm, and all I could think of was this apartment, how much I wanted to be back. I wanted to see my family; I wanted to  Then I shut my eyes, and when I opened ‘em, I was back.”

“Huh,” Steve says after a long pause. “So… Wanna watch a movie?”

Bucky shrugs, fighting back a grin. “Sure,” he responds.

——

They fall into a routine. Steve is about as great a roommate as Bucky’s ever had, and it’s even better because they can talk. It’s mostly inane; Steve is smart enough to know not to dig too much, and Bucky recognizes that he’s an uninvited guest that can never leave. But somehow it works; the two of them fit together in a way that Bucky’s never had before, not even when he was alive. While he does’ know for sure, he gets the feeling that Steve is in the same boat.

Besides, they just get each other.

“I’m not sayin’ that  _Golden Girls_ is bad,” Bucky says a month later while they lounge on the couch together. “I’m just sayin’ that it doesn’t hold up to multiple views.”

Steve is sick—he is a lot, from what Bucky can gather—and the two of them are debating what to do that’d make Steve feel better. Steve remembers  _Golden Girls_  from childhood daytime TV and thinks it’d be nurturing. Bucky disagrees.

“Then what do you suggest?” Steve asks through a stuffy nose. He’s got a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but Bucky thinks he should be wearing a sweater. His ratty white t-shirt is see-through; Bucky can practically count his ribs through it.

Bucky sighs, leaning back against the couch. He can smell the chicken soup he started from the kitchen. It’s a strange thing—he can’t remember smelling anything for the longest time, but the soup he smells perfectly. Probably because it’s the first time he’s tried cooking something, and has really  _needed_  to smell anything. No matter what, it’s nice to smell something salty and good after so long. “We should listen to one of those podcast things,” Bucky says. “I liked the one you were listening to yesterday when you made dinner.”

Steve groans. “You don’t just sit somewhere and  _listen_  to a podcast. It’s something you do while you’re doing other things, Buck!”

That’s another thing, Steve’s started calling Bucky ‘Buck.’ It makes Bucky smile whenever he does it, even when he’s getting ready to argue. Like right now.

“See, that’s the problem with anybody born after 1960: you don’t know how to sit, and how to really listen to somethin’. I swear, the television—“ Steve groans. “What?” Bucky asks, a little defensive.

“No offense, but you sound just like my grandpa, Bucky!”

“Well kid, I am older than your grandpa.”

They laugh, and Bucky stirs the soup, and they end up huddled together on the couch listening to  _This American Life_.

When Steve reaches over to brush the hair from Bucky’s forehead, Bucky feels the touch of another human for the first time in seventy years.

——

“Can I tell people you exist?” Steve asks moments after he walks through the door one day. He drops his messenger bag on the floor, and stands straight and tall. There’s something angry in his posture, and Bucky’s seen grenades that have nothing on Steve Rogers’ righteous fury.

“Um,” Bucky says. “As long as they’re not an exorcist, I guess.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Because you’re gonna meet my friend Sam.”

“Steve—“ Bucky starts, because love it to Steve Rogers to forget that, yeah, Bucky hasn’t been visible to anyone but him for seventy years.

“Save it,” Steve says, waving Bucky away as he shuts the door. “Even if he can’t see you, all you have to do is touch his face or maybe send a few pans flying through the air.”

“I don’t think—“

“He’ll be over in fifteen with pizza,” Steve says, then pauses. “Have you smelt modern pizza? Did you have pizza in—“

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says, and startles. There’s something fizzing in the air, and Bucky realizes that something in his demeanor changed. He feels less corporeal, and Steve is staring at him with wide, startled eyes. “Steve,” Bucky repeats, trying to bring the atoms of himself back together. Is this what happens when ghosts get angry? He tries lowering his voice, “I don’t want anyone to…” He pauses, shaking his head. “It’s not that you can’t have people over. I don’t want  you to be a hermit. But…. I don’t want people to poke and prod, to try to figure out whatever it is that’s happened to me. I’m not in a freak show.” “Bucky,” Steve says. “Bucky, I didn’t mean—“

“I know,” Bucky says, taking a few steps away. His feet feel solid on the ground; it feels good, especially after that scare. “And it’s okay.”

“I’ll call Sam.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

——

That night Steve calls Bucky from his bedroom. Bucky doesn’t usually follow Steve inside—sure, once it was his actual bedroom, one that he shared with his mother and his sister after his dad passed, but it’s not like it’s his now. He understands limits and barriers. Also he’s terrified of what Steve’s reaction would be if Bucky just floated in on him in his underwear. Sure, Bucky’s tried to send himself to the afterlife, but he’s pretty sure that Steve Rogers could really accomplish the death that he’s been looking for this whole time.

Or, well, that he was looking for until Steve Rogers moved in.

Bucky was in the kitchen—staring wistfully out the window and wondering if he can even remember what rain feels like against his skin—but heads over quickly at Steve’s call. There’s been a time or two when Steve needs his inhaler, and Bucky likes to think that maybe he saved his friend’s life by using his ghostly powers to rush through walls at top speed with it. But there’s no coughing from the other room, and Steve sounds pretty casual.

Maybe they’ll play cards again. Though Bucky is pretty sure Steve cheats.

“Steve?” he asks before hovering in.

And Steve is there.

On his bed.

Shirtless.

Okay, so it’s not like he hasn’t seen Steve shirtless before, but it’s always been accidental. And definitely not in the way that Steve is looking at him right now—wide-eyed, red-lipped, and saying, “Bucky,” in that low voice of his.

“Steve?” he asks again, standing paralyzed at the door. He must be misreading this situation, because Bucky is thinking that, well, Steve may be trying to seduce him. And that’d be just nuts. Because men don’t seduce men, or maybe they do—Bucky had seen it on television—but Steve doesn’t seduce  _Bucky_  and—

“If you don’t want to do anything, we don’t have to,” Steve says, straightening up. He’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms, and for a minute that strikes Bucky as very funny. Only Steve would wear flannel to a seduction. But then Steve is looking palpably deflated, pulling a linty blanket over his chest. “Sorry, I just thought you would be, um.”

“Interested,” Bucky says, and Steve nods, looking half-miserable. Or wholey miserable.

“Yeah,” he says. “I misunderstood, I’m sorry, I—“

And then before he can really realize what he’s doing, Bucky is walking to the bed. Steve straightens again, but is still holding the stupid blanket in front of his chest. “I…” Bucky begins, but he’s to entirely sure where he’s going with this. But it’s been itching at the back of his mind for a while now, this feeling that he gets when he looks at Steve. Bucky didn’t die a virgin, but he also died—or at least he thinks he died—without having ever fallen in love. And he’s worried that’s what’s been happening with him and Steve, without Bucky ever really realizing it.

“You can kiss me,” Steve hazards, letting the blanket fall to his lap. “If you want, I mean.”

“I do want to,” Bucky says, but his voice gets softer. “But what happens after?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “Nothing.”

So Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, twisting to look at Steve. He’s got the most beautiful eyes Bucky has ever seen—life or death. They’re big and blue, and they remind him of beach at Coney Island. “I wish I could take you on a date,” Bucky says. “Or somethin’. Nothin’ that special or fancy, but we could go walk down the boardwalk at Coney Island.” He pauses. “Coney Island is still around, right?”

“Sure is,” Steve says.

“And fellas can hold hands in public?” Bucky asks

Steve nods, reaching out for Bucky’s hand. He lets Steve lace his fingers through his, then shuts his eyes for a moment. “Bucky?” Steve asks, quiet.

“‘M good,” Bucky says. “We’re good?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but it does.

“Yeah,” Steve says, giving his hand a little squeeze. “Perfect.”

Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. “Perfect?” he asks. Steve nods. “Bet I can make it better.”

“And how would you—“

He cuts Steve off with a peck on the lips. When he pulls away, hovering an inch over Steve’s lips with his eyes shut, he can feel the corners of Steve’s lips turn up, feel Steve’s warm breath on his lips.

He’s been cold for a long, long time.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks, and when Bucky nods, Steve shuts the distance between them in an instant. He surges forward, using his free hand to tangle it in Bucky’s hair. Bucky tenses as Steve’s lips meet his, then relaxes all at once. He moves a hand to Steve’s bare back, pulling him closer, flush against him. They start slow, but Steve wants more. He opens his mouth and presses his tongue against Bucky’s lips, and God it feels good to open his own mouth and let Steve inside. They make out for a whiles, but then Bucky wants more. He moves his face to Steve’s neck and kisses sweet kisses down to his chest.

“Can I?” Steve asks, moving his hands to Bucky’s khaki jacket.

Bucky tenses. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he says. In all these years, he never once tried to remove his clothing. In fact, it had never occurred to him. He’s not even sure he was aware of what he was wearing until Steve pointed it out. It’s strange, the things that Steve has made him realize and feel in the short time they’ve known each other.

Bucky watches as Steve finds the buttons of his jacket and starts popping them out one by one. His face is all concentration, biting his red lower lip. His hair is mussed, and Bucky wants so badly to touch it, to smooth it down, and to let his fingertips linger in that soft gold.

But they have time now. For the first time in so long, Bucky doesn’t want the moments to end.

Once Steve pops off the buttons, he gingerly pulls the jacket from Bucky’s arms and shoulders. “Should I fold it?” Steve asks, holding the fabric in his hands. Bucky notices how dirty it looks now—it was pristine, clean and starched when he had looked at himself in a mirror just a few hours ago.

There’s blood and soot smeared on it; it smells of gunpowder.

“Toss it on the floor,” Bucky says, trying not to let himself worry. Not when Steve is looking at him with wide, hungry eyes, and for the first time in nearly a century he feels like he’s exactly where he belongs.

——

Steve fucks like he does everything: with a single-minded intensity. His eyes are serious and his breath is shallow. Bucky feels his ribs, his stomach, his small ass. And his cock, well, that’s a work of art. It’s beautiful and long, and Bucky can’t stop looking at it, because he’s seen a lot of cocks, but this is the first that he’s been able to touch, to stroke and to kiss.

And it’s Steve, which makes it all better.

Bucky strokes and strokes, until Steve is panting, and shoving a bottle into his hands. “Get me ready,” he orders, and Bucky knows how to takes orders, and frankly, he’s glad for them. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really.

It’s not a sin now, he knows, but it’s still so new. He loves it.

He loves fucking Steve, he loves the feel of his cock in Steve’s tight hole, he loves kissing Steve’s brow, and the noises Steve makes when he comes sloppily over their stomachs. He loves the encouragement Steve gives him when Bucky comes for the first time in almost a century.

Most of all, he loves the way that Steve kisses him, almost shy, when Bucky falls into bed next to him.

And he thinks that more than anything, he loves Steve. And that thought, he thinks as he shuts his eyes, could set him free.

——

“Bucky?” Steve asks, panicked.

He was there a moment ago, and now he’s gone. Steve doesn’t want to worry, because sometimes Bucky is just elsewhere; he moves more quickly than Steve does. It’s actually pretty endearing when Bucky floats through a wall and gets all worried when Steve isn’t right behind him. But it’s not so endearing when Steve was, well, expecting Bucky to stay. At least for a while.

Then again, Bucky doesn’t sleep, so Steve doesn’t quite know what to expect.

But then Bucky flickers into existence next to him again, eyes opening as if startled. “Yeah?” he asks. “I was restin’ a bit.”

And then Steve gets a good look at him. He’s still naked, but rather than sweaty and flushed from sex, he looks dirty. His skin is covered in soot and blood, his hair is undone and there’s a huge cut over his eye. His left arm is practically one giant gaping wound, and Steve’s throat goes dry.

He doesn’t know much about ghosts; he never did. But he does know that sometimes, when ghosts have unfinished business that is conquered, they get to rest. Bucky may get to go to heaven, where he belongs. Steve was raised Catholic, but doesn’t think he really believed in God until he saw Bucky Barnes on his couch; now he thinks he never understood being charitable until this moment.

“Nothing,” Steve says. “I think I love you,” he adds, quiet, because he’s sure that there probably won’t be another time.

“Same,” Bucky says, a smile on his tired lips. “I think I love you, too, Steve.” He makes a small, contented sigh, eyes slipping shut again. “I haven’t felt this tired in so long,” he says.

“Then go to sleep,” Steve replies, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He’s almost successful. “You deserve some rest.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says. “I love—“

And then he’s gone.


	38. Never Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short AU thing based on Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel Never Let Me Go, which is honestly the best novel of all time and everyone should read it. Be forewarned: both the novel, and this AU are very, very sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite book of all time and I do not do it justice.

Bucky is a donor. And he’s pretty resigned to his fate. He went through the motions going to school, didn’t spend too long as a carer, because why bother? Things’re all a bit meaningless when you’re literally raised just to be a piece of meat, carved up and given to other people. He hasn’t been in love, and even if he had been, he knows deferrals don’t exist.

After washing out as a carer, he almost looks forward to getting his notice for his first donation. Until he finds out that they’ll be taking his inner-ear. Just one of them; he’ll only be deaf in one ear, but it seems so strange, especially compared to what many of his acquaintances from school have been donating.

It also means that he’ll be alive for other donations, waiting around half-deaf to die.

Except, two weeks after the operation his carer—Sam, a great guy, even if he hasn’t done much—comes to him. “You don’t have to say yes, but there’s someone who wants to see you.” And Bucky is curious—because no one comes to see him, not any of the people he used to know—so he says yes.

So Sam leaves, and brings back this skinny guy. Honestly, just the smallest man Bucky’s ever seen. He can’t be a donor; no one would want whatever is inside of him. Bucky can tell from a look that he’s sick. And that’s why his low voice shocks Bucky when he says, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Bucky says, angling himself so that his good ear is towards the man. He’s not used to the way he can hear the world now. He wonders, briefly, if he’ll have enough time to ever get used to it.

“I’m Steve,” the man says.

“Bucky,” Bucky responds.

The corner of Steve’s lip quirks up. “Really?” he asks. Bucky nods, eyebrows a little furrowed. “I thought your name was James.”

“Bucky is my nickname,” he responds, and then there’s a pause.

Donors aren’t supposed to have nicknames, probably.

“Oh,” the man says, finally. Then, “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Bucky asks.

“For…” He trails off, then reaches up and touches his left ear. “I can hear again, thanks to you.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “That’s nice.” Steve’s finger tips brush his hair as he lets his arm fall to his side again. That’s nice. His hair is blond, beautiful.

“I’m sorry that it had to come from you.”

“It’s why I was…” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t realize you could come in here.”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be.” A beat. “I should—“

“I’m so bored,” Bucky interrupts. “Play a game of cards with me?”

They play War, and after an hour, Steve stops letting Bucky win.

Steve comes by a lot. Bucky is doing pretty well after his surgery—Sam says it’s because he has something to look forward to, but that’s nonsense—and sometimes he and Steve will go for a walk. Steve offers to take him into town once, to get hamburgers, but Bucky declines. He’s not supposed to leave his facility without permission, and while Bucky doesn’t know how Steve manages to get in there, he doesn’t want to jinx it.

No, he’s alright with the way things are.

Until he gets notice of his second donation.

“A kidney,” he tells Steve. He’s never had to console someone while they cried before. He’s also never been in love with anyone, either, but there’s a first time for everything, even if he’s not going to last.

“Don’t talk that way,” Steve says, serious, before he closes the space between them.

Bucky is lucky that he doesn’t share his room in his facility. Some places are a lot less nice.

Somehow he survives his donation, but he’s tired, weak. He has trouble taking walks with Steve now, and apparently they’ll only have the one time. Steve holds his hand, mutters about how he’s talking to the right people, that he’s going to do something, and Bucky turns the left side of his head towards him, because he’s known what was going to happen since he was in school. No amount of childhood lies would keep him from knowing why they check in every morning, why their nutrition was so important.

“Bucky,” Steve says, the night before he gets notice of his third donation. “You could take my last name.”

After that day he requests that his name be changed from ‘James B.’ To ‘Bucky Rogers.’ The request is denied, and they want his eyes.

“I’ll see for you,” Steve says, watery. “I’ll—“

“Shh,” Bucky says. “You’re already hearing for the both of us, don’t take on too much.”

Bucky knows he’s going to complete as he lays on the table. He hopes, for a brief moment, that Steve will be able to see enough for the both of them. He wonders, for a brief moment, if Steve will see his eyes again in someone else’s head. With Steve’s ears, and that person’s eyes, maybe he could be alive again, in a strange way.

He’d like that, he thinks.


	39. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steve’s first sad 4th post freezing, then first happy one with Bucky (:

**Then.**

A lot of cities ask if Captain America would be the Grand Marshall of their 4th of July parade.

He’s nearly tempted to accept Gambier, Ohio’s invitation, since they’re the only small town that even tries making a bid against New York, Chicago and LA. But even a ten minute parade in Gambier is in the least bit enticing.

He visits Peggy on July 2nd, gives her a peck on the cheek and tells her he’ll be back in a few days.

The plane ride to Arizona is uneventful. One little girl spots him, asks if he’ll pick her up so she can kiss his cheek. He checks with her parents—yes, they say, of course—and does so. She says, “Happy 4th of July, Captain!” in a squeaky, energetic voice after she kisses him, patting his head with a chubby hand. Her smiles as he puts her down.

Her parents get it all on camera, and it ends up trending in an hour.

Steve, however, doesn’t see it. Instead, he ignores the notifications on his phone and double checks that he has all his equipment before he heads in.

The Grand Canyon is beautiful and vast. His guide is a nice young girl, who he ditches as soon as he can. He’s not like most people—he can withstand a lot, and has a Stark-patented tracking device with him, in case something does happen.

He camps out in a strong SHIELD-grade strength tent and watches at the sky turn from dusk to night. He can’t hear any fireworks here, just the sounds of desert animals hurrying through the sand. He gets the bottles of beer out from his backpack. He only packed three: one for him, one for Peggy, and the other for a ghost. He opens his up, and sets the two other unopened bottles next to him in the sand, next to the fire that he built.

He raises the beer up to the sky. “Happy birthday,” he says quietly to himself, before he drains the whole thing down.

And he doesn’t feel a thing.

**Now.**

Steve wakes-up with Bucky’s warm breath on his neck.

He glances at the clock, then back down to the man next to him, and decides that it’s his birthday—he can shut his eyes again.

**…**

When he wakes up a second time, it’s because Bucky is sitting up, wiping his sleepy eyes with his metal hand. “Morning,” Steve says, with a little smile.

Bucky blinks a few times at Steve, then smiles back. “Hey birthday boy,” he says. He flaps back onto the bed and snuggles up close. “Did I wake you up?”

“Mmm,” Steve hums, reaching up and smoothing Bucky’s bedhead down. “Not really.”

Bucky leans down and gives Steve a warm kiss, lingering and sweet. “Sorry,” he says. “For wakin’ the birthday boy up.” He smiles, a bit wicked. “Anythin’ I can do to make it up to you?”

“I can think of a couple things,” Steve responds, trailing a finger down Bucky’s flesh arm.

“Hope you’re thinkin’ of breakfast in bed, because that’s what I was thinkin’.”

“Provided by Jarvis?”

“‘Course,” Bucky says. “You think I’m cookin’?”

“No,” Steve says, pulling Bucky down for another quick kiss. “Wouldn’t dare.”

Bucky smiles, Steve smiles back, and it’s absolutely everything.


	40. Poison Ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” -- dickbattles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of a bunch of stuff. This also somehow turned into a just-graduated-high-school AU.

“No,” Bucky says, sardonic voice muffled by the pillow he’s got his face in. “I’m here for fun.”

Steve wishes, for a moment, that he  _were_  here for fun.

“Buck,” Steve adds. “Why is your ass–”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Bucky says. He moves his face to look out at Steve, miserable and tense. His furrowed brows take Steve’s attention from the little red welts dotting Bucky’s (purt, round, delicious) ass and the back of his thighs. He huffs, and it makes the hair hanging in his face fluff up. He’s been growing his hair out since graduation. It’s not a good look, but Steve still wants to run his hands through it. “Poison ivy,” he says. “I needed to take a shit, and I was with my campers in the woods, and of course the little brats didn’t touch the poison ivy when they took a piss, but I get welts up and down my ass. Came here because it was closer than home and your ma prob’ly has more healing stuff than my ma.”

Steve muffles a snort, and Bucky groans. “Hurts, Stevie,” he says, wiggling around a little. His dick probably touching Steve’s bedspread. Steve bites down on his lip. Hard.

Having Bucky Barnes as his best friend has made Steve’s sexual awakening simultaneously very clear, and very difficult. Even if his ass is covered in a rash.

“Is there… Is there anything I can do?” Steve asks, wondering if he has aloe vera anywhere. He’s sure they do–Steve’s skin burns easily.

“Kiss it and make it better?” Bucky asks, sarcastic, looking up at Steve with a little smirk, and a wink.

So Steve does it. Bends down and gives Bucky a big smooch right on his rashy ass. It’s… not exactly how Steve imagined his first kiss with Bucky.

“S-Steve?” Bucky asks.

“You asked,” Steve defends, ready to fight, ready to–

“Maybe wanna try it on my lips next time?” Bucky asks, sounding almost nervous.

Steve swallows. “Anytime,” he manages.

There’s a pause. “Now?” Bucky rasps out, and Steve obliges. It’s a little bit of a weird angle for kissing, but they manage it, distracting Bucky from his butt issues. And it’s nice, later when Steve’s ma get home, Steve does get to massage the aloe into Bucky’s ass, and hear his new boyfriend groan.


	41. A Box of Kittens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” -- Raxhael

“C’mon Buck,” Steve says, holding out the cardboard box like a peace offering. “I know it’s stupid and sentimental, but it was raining, and–”

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky says, sighing, and running a hand through his hair. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had.” Steve’s face falls. “Of course I’m in.”

One of the kittens in the cardboard box meows.

—-

There are five in all, and Steve initially hopes that they can just house them all at Stark’s. But it turns out that Pepper is allergic, and if Pepper is allergic, there will be no cats at Stark’s. So that crosses them off the list.

“Steve,” Bucky says, frantic, as the little grey one claws his metal arm to get to the little bottle of milk he’s holding. His eyes are wide, his hair fluffed up. “Steve, you said you knew people. You said you’d be able to–”

“I know, Buck,” Steve says, detaching the little orange one from their couch. “I just, give me a few more days, Bucky. I just need a few more days.”

“A few more days,” Bucky agrees, as the grey one sucks from the bottle in his hand. He is delicate, and he is small, and Bucky is terrified he will crush him.

—-

Sam can’t take one right now, but he has two people from the VA who would love a little (free) kitty. So the orange and the brown spotted one go. Then Steve’s friend from the gym takes the two white ones, because they remind him of his grandmother’s cats, and it was love at first sight.

Which just leaves the little grey one. He’s the smallest of the whole bunch, and it seems like his paws are too big for his body, the way that he crawls around. He’s fond of Bucky, crawling over him and letting out little meows that seem to take his whole body when Bucky tries to leave. One night, Steve comes in late from work to see the cat curled up in the blankets on their bed, Bucky curled up around him. 

It’s cute. It’s cute as hell.

—-

“I’ve always wanted a cat,” Maria says, holding the fidgety cat in both hands. The cat meows, and reaches for Bucky. Bucky fidgets next to Steve. “You can come visit whenever,” Maria adds, looking at the way that Bucky is looking at the kitten. 

“Probably won’t,” Bucky lies, eyes not meeting hers.

She smiles, and bids them goodbye, and as soon as the door is shut, Bucky is grabbing Steve and pulling him close. He’s not crying, but his shoulders are shaking. Steve isn’t sure what to say; he told Bucky they could keep the cat, that it would be alright. But Bucky kept saying no, that they’re both gone too much, that it wouldn’t be fair.

After a long minute of Bucky shaking, and Steve stroking his back, Bucky says, “Hardest mission ever.”

“You did good,” Steve says. “So good.”


	42. Captain America For Mayor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” -- biblionerd07

Bucky stares at Steve. “This isn’t a joke?” he asks, looking at the shiny red, white and blue button in his hand. It’s got the shield’s design with it with ‘Steve Rogers for Mayor’ written in blocky, white letters.

Steve shakes his head, slowly. “No,” he says. “It’s not.”

Bucky groans. “Why?” he asks.

“Because,” Steve says, chest puffing out and voice getting deeper, his stage voice. “This city is mismanaged, and people are getting evicted without any help, and–”

“Stop,” Bucky answers. Steve furrows his brows, obviously unamused. “Fine, whatever. I’ll help, do whatever you need.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Really?” he asks.

“Let’s get this straight,” Bucky says, poking a finger into Steve’s perfect pectoral. “This is without a doubt the  _stupidest_  plan you’ve ever had. And I remember the time we went into a Nazi artillery unarmed with only Falsworth for back-up.” Steve rolls his eyes; it was a dumb plan and a miracle that they survived. “ _But_ ,” Bucky adds, you’re probably qualified, and would be really great at it, and… Of course I’m in.” Steve grins, so Bucky adds, “You idiot,” for good measure.

—-

Six months later, and Bucky is pretty sure that he hasn’t slept a full since the moment Steve told him he was running for office. It’s been a marathon since then: press events, and charity marathons, and shaking hands, and pretending to genuinely care half as much as Steve does.

“It’ll be okay either way,” Steve whispers to him in the back of the crowded room. They’ve rented out a party hall for the results, and invited everyone who worked on the campaign, as well as making it free to any community members who want to come, so the place is absolutely packed with people gobbling down mini corndogs and drinking soda. Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Just because I won’t win doesn’t mean–”

“You’ll win,” Bucky says. He’s sure. “You’ll–”

“How do you–”

“I know.” Bucky says, then shuts Steve up by kissing him. Kissing Steve has always been a way to get a moment of peace and quiet, and the kissing is an added bonus.

Steve lingers for a long moment, pulling his lips away but resting his forehead on Bucky’s. “Y’know,” he says. “Thanks. For standing by me through all this.”

“Said ‘til the end of the line, didn’t I? Didn’t think it’d be the voting line, but I guess I should’ve expected it.”

Steve laughs, a small breathy chuckle that makes Bucky shiver. “I wanted to ask you,” Steve begins, “before things get crazy, if you’ll do something else for me.”

“Anything,” Bucky promises, not bothering to mask it behind any sort of lies.

“Marry me?” Steve asks, still close, still breathy, but reaching into his pocket and pressing a ring into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky takes a deep breath, wraps his hand around the ring and holds tight. “Sure,” Bucky says. “I think I could.”

Steve grins as the room erupts into cheers, people screaming about how Steve Rogers is now the Mayor of New York City.


	43. Watching TV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Wait a minute, are you jealous?" -- Anon

Steve finds Bucky on the couch. Again. 

“What’re you watching?” he asks, but Steve already knows the answer.

“ _Parks and Recreation_ ,” Bucky says. He doesn’t even shorten the title like most people; he says the whole thing like it’s something reverent.

“Which episode today?” Steve asks.

“The dinner party one,” Bucky says. “With Justin and the rec center teachers.”

It’s not even one of the ones with Ben. Everyone knows that  _Parks and Rec_  got better when Ben was introduced.

“Wanna get dinner?” Steve asks. “We can get Thai?”

Bucky shrugs. “After the episode?” he asks. Trying not to sigh, Steve sits down next to Bucky on the couch. He slings an arm over Bucky’s shoulders and tries to get him a little closer, to cuddle in a little. Bucky leans in a little, but doesn’t react when Steve presses his nose to the side of Bucky’s face and gives him a little kiss. But he does react at some accountant showing up to the party–Bucky snorts, and he kind of bangs his shoulder into Steve’s nose.

“Shit,” Steve says, reaching up to touch it. He drops his hand; it doesn’t hurt so much, but Steve is irritated that Bucky didn’t notice him.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, tearing his eyes from the TV. “Sorry,” he repeats, reaching up and kissing the tip of Steve’s nose, then again on his cheekbone. “Better?” he asks.

Steve lets himself smile. “Guess all it takes for you to stop watching the TV is for me to get hurt, huh?” Steve asks, looking down at Bucky’s hands.

“Wait a minute,” Bucky says. “Are you jealous? Of the TV?”

Steve blushes. “No, I’m… It’s just you watch it a lot.”

“It’s funny,” Bucky says, reaching out and grabbing Steve’s hand. “I like it.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t–”

“But I like you more,” Bucky says, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze. “Lots more.” He drops Steve’s hand to grab the remote from his other side. He shuts off the TV and stands up. “Let’s get Thai,” he says, holding his hand out for Steve to take. Steve does.

 


	44. SHARKS WITH LASER BEAMS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You did all of this for me?" -- Anon

“Aw,” Bucky says, looking down at the shark pit. “You did all this for me?”

“Hush,” says the Big Bad of the week. Bucky never caught his name, even if the guy did catch him. It was a slip-up, a mistake, and exactly what the Big Bad wanted. “Your Captain will be here soon.”

“So you’re saying that the sharks and laser beams aren’t for me? They’re for Steve?” Bucky rolls his eyes. “That’s not very nice.”

“SILENCE,” the guy bellows. He’s wearing purple spandex and a long green cape. Frankly, it’s a fashion disaster. He looks like a villain from the 70s, not one of those modern gruff villains that the media pretends are the only ones around. “Capturing you is merely the bait for Captain America. If he knows his sidekick is in danger, he is sure to come.”

“Sidekick?” Bucky asks, eyes narrowing.

“Yes, Captain America’s sidekick, Bucky Barnes!” He pauses. “That’s who you are, right?” He almost looks nervous. How cute.

“Not a sidekick,” Bucky says, using the overheat function that’s recently been added to his arm. It begins to burn the rope holding his wrists together, and he can feel them loosening already. “Common-law partner.”

“What?” the Big Bad asks, but it’s too late.

Bucky swings off of the burnt rope and somersaults over the pool. The lasers begin shooting, but he easily dodges them, jumping from the edge of the pool of sharks and vaulting himself over to the platform where the Big Bad is watching him, mouth agape. It only takes a few moments to knock the guy out and tie him up. Apparently, he’s not much without his sharks.

(The sharks actually seem pretty non perturbed, just swimming around and hanging out. Bucky thinks he’d actually like to go for a swim with them, if he gets the time.)

The guy’s minions start trickling in, and it only takes a small bit of effort to incapacitate them. They’re all outfitted with retro equipment and mediocre armor. This must be a low-budget capture, which makes Bucky a little embarrassed that it happened in the first place.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to come, busting in with Sam and Natasha. “Bucky?” he asks. “You alright?”

Bucky shrugs from where he’s sitting on the unconscious body of the Big Bad. “Fine,” he says. “He wanted to capture you, so I handled things.”

Steve looks around. “You did all this for me?”

“Yeah baby, I did.”


	45. Put a Ring on It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” -- bibliojess

There is a guy following Bucky around the department store. He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the fact that Natasha’s birthday is coming up and he needs to find something worthy of his best friend.

He’s not having much luck.

Especially since the guy started following him. At first he thought the tall guy was an overeager salesman hoping to make a commission, but he’s trekked behind him throughout the different departments, moving from shoes to men’s wear to women’s wear, and now down at the jewelry counter. It’s hard to focus on finding Natasha something perfect when he can feel the guy’s dark eyes looking hungrily at his back.

So he does something about it.

“Can I help you?” he asks, not wanting to attack the guy, but wanting him to know that Bucky’s on to him.

“Yeah,” he says with a predatory smile. “You can gimme your number.”

Bucky scowls. “No.”

“C’mon man, my name’s Brock, lemme get you a drink.”

“I said no,” Bucky repeats. “And it’s no use trying to get it, so leave me alone.”

“Don’t see a ring on your finger,” he says, still smirking.

“Honey, where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting at the ring counter forever.” At first, Bucky doesn’t turn. But then he sees Brock looking next to him, and then Bucky follows his gaze to the tiny but HOLY SHIT attractive guy standing next to him. Are cheekbones like that even legal?

“Um,” Bucky says, brilliant. 

The guy chuckles and puts his hand on the crook of Bucky’s elbow. “C’mon hon, _you’re_ the one who proposed. Least you could do is come with me to look at the rings.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Yeah, I was just…” He looks up at Brock. “Have a great day,” he says with a half smile before the little guy ushers him away.

When they end up at the ring counter, the guy drops Bucky’s arm and Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified,” Bucky says, looking over to where Brock was. He’s gone now, but Bucky’s not sure he won’t come back.

“You think? I’m your fiancé.” Bucky looks up, worried for a moment that the guy is delusional. But the guy is grinning as he lets himself behind the counter. Confused, Bucky watches as he reaches over next to the register and picks up a name tag, which he pins to his sweater. It reads ‘Steve.’ “But really, don’t sweat it. We get a weird amount of creeps in here.”

Bucky sighs. “Usually I handle myself a bit better.”

Steve shrugs. “Well, in this store you’re under my watchful eye, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

This guy’s smile is amazing and it’s making Bucky’s throat a little dry. “Can I thank you somehow?” Bucky says. “I could, uh, get you a grilled cheese.”

“Just… go out and buy me a grilled cheese?” Steve asks, a little skeptical.

“No, I mean, like, we could, uh, ‘cause there’s the place on the other side of the mall, and…” His face is red; he can feel it.

“Are you asking me out?” Steve asks.

“Am I a creep if I do?” Bucky asks.

Steve snorts. “My shift ends in ten minutes, but I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Cool,” Bucky says. “I’ve got ten minutes to think of something else to do.”

(They get tacos. It’s a great first date.)

 


	46. Wake-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” -- cryingbuckyets

“Bucky!” Steve shouts, trying to warn him about the missile headed his way, eyes growing wide as he realizes that there’s no way he can get there in time, no way to take that bullet for him. “Move, you’ve got to–”

The last thing he sees is Bucky moving to left before everything goes dark.

—-

The dream is good, and warm. He’s at his ma’s apartment, sharing an orange. Then he’s in modern New York, watching a green sunset over the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Every so often he dreams of Europe, and he can hear beeping, growing louder and louder when he does.

—-

He doesn’t dream of Bucky, even if he wants to.

—-

Until he does. They’re floating. Or laying down. Steve can’t quite tell. But they’re together. Bucky looks like he did before going off to basic. His hair is slicked and his cheeks are fuller; Steve’s not sure if he’s wearing anything, but he’s got his swagger.

“Steve,” Bucky says.

“I didn’t think I’d see you,” Steve responds. He wants to reach out, to touch, but his arms are glued to his sides. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Steve,” Bucky says again, voice breaking. But his expression doesn’t change, doesn’t match the pained way he says Steve’s name.

“Bucky?” Steve asks. Bucky just looks at him, and Steve feels something cold travel down his spine. Bucky isn’t blinking. Bucky seems like a mannequin. “Buck, what is it?”

“You need to come back,” Bucky says. “You need to…” He trails off, and Steve can hear him choking back a sob. But the face looking at him has clear, bright eyes. It’s not his Bucky, Steve realizes. It’s not the Bucky he knows, and who he loves.

“How do I come back?” Steve asks. “How do I–”

“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” Bucky says, voice barely a whisper. “You need to wake up because you’re the only person I know.” He swallows hard. “I love you, Steve. I love you, and you need to come home to me.”

Waking-up. Bucky needs him to wake-up. He can, he can, he–

—-

The beeping grows loud as Steve blinks his eyes open. The light is bright, and he’s in a hospital, hooked up to machines.

He glances to his side, and there’s Bucky, with long, greasy hair. His eyes are filled with tears as he takes a few shallow breaths, scrambling to get closer to Steve. “Steve?” he asks. “Steve, are you–”

“I woke-up,” Steve croaks. “I came back because I love–”

He’s interrupted by doctors and nurses rushing in the room, pushing Bucky back to check Steve’s vitals, to tell him that he’s been in the coma for over a week.

But one look over at Bucky’s face watching Steve from the side of the room tells Steve that he heard everything he needed to hear.


	47. Sex So Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” -- Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry but there is not actually sex in this. I just have trouble naming things.

Steve is avoiding him. He’s sitting on the opposite side of the couch when they watch TV. He’s reading the newspaper during dinner. A dinner that Bucky painstakingly made with his own to hands.

(Well, technically he took the lasagna out of the freezer and put it in a pan and put it in the oven, and then one of his arms isn’t technically his own, but it’s the spirit of the thing.)

And it’s irritating.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky says, hovering next to the couch. Steve is reading a book, and should’ve looked up when Bucky entered the room. But he’s not looking up. Steve should know he’s there; he’s got super hearing.

“Oh hey,” Steve says after a long moment. “Bucky,” he adds, which is dumb because who else would it be? The gnome who lives in the spare bedroom.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “It’s Bucky.” Steve gives Bucky a little strained smile, and Bucky takes it as an excuse to plop his ass down next to Steve. Maybe a little close. Their thighs are touching. It’s not a big deal.

“I should, uh–” Steve begins, shutting his book and motioning like he’s about to stand up.

“Steve,” Bucky says, maybe flinging his metal arm out in front of Steve’s chest so that he flops back onto the couch with a little umph. “Why’re you avoiding me?”

“’m not,” Steve mutters.

“Are too,” Bucky responds, because he’s five years old.

“It’s just,” Steve says, then sighs. “Do we have to–”

“Yes,” Bucky says, then adds, quiet and urgent, “I need to know, Steve.” But he drops his arm with a huff. “I miss you.”

“Bucky.” Steve’s eyes are wide. 

“I think we’ve established that I am Bucky.”

Steve cracks a smile, a real smile. “I miss you, too.” He rubs at his eye with his free hand, then says, “It’s just been hard since I… I thought a bit about… And I…” He swallows. “I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified.”

Oh. Uh. Alright. Unexpected, but alright.

Then, “Terrified?” Bucky asks, a little agog. 

“It’s just, we’ve been friends for so long, and I’m terrified that our relationship will change, because I know you won’t–”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts.

“Bucky?”

“I know why you’re terrified.” Steve looks down at his lap. “It’s because you’re afraid that the sex is gonna be so good that I’m gonna ruin you for everybody else, right?”

“Wha–” Steve begins, but is interrupted by Bucky practically lunging over at Steve, kissing him, metal arm caressing him, flesh hand weaving through Steve’s golden hair. Steve is startled at first, but after he drops his book he relaxes, kisses back, slips a hand into Bucky’s back pocket and gives a squeeze.

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s lips. “We could’ve been doing this all along?” He asks.

“We’re doing it now,” Steve says, before pressing a kiss to Bucky’s cheekbone.

“Let’s keep doing it,” Bucky says, moving to press another kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve shuts his eyes, but Bucky doesn’t lean in all the way. “Love you too,” he whispers before pulling Steve in and kissing him hard


	48. It Won't Be A Stylish Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” (Steggy) -- whereintheworldisbuckybarnes

“So what do you think?” Peggy asks, eyes bright.

“This is without a doubt,” Steve begins, “The stupidest plan you’ve ever had.” Peggy looks at him with a nervous intensity, brown eyes bright in the dim light of the Italian restaurant they’re having dinner in. “Of course I’m in.”

“And that’s why I love you.” It’s casual, perfunctory, but the slight breathiness betrays how new this is, how great it is that they can say it to one another. It’s been drawn out, their courtship. They met back in high school, when Steve needed two puffs on his inhaler to get through gym class. Even then, they danced around one another, Steve staring at where she played oboe from where he was playing French Horn in band.

College came and went, and now Steve’s heavier, and she’s… still Peggy, just with a lot more knowledge about feminist theories. And now they let each other know that they love each other.

“So,” Steve asks, “When’re we going?”

—

They’ve been going on adventures for ages. Traveling to see an art show, or getting vengeance on a bully by egging their house. It’s their thing. They have fun.

This is, admittedly, the first time that their fun involves filling out paperwork.

“Quit your fidgeting,” Peggy says, but she’s smiling. The clerk looks at her a little concerned. But then Peggy is pushing the papers over to Steve. “Signature, darling,” she says, and Steve obliges. He signs off with a flourish, and before the ink is dry, Peggy hands them over to the woman.

“Very good,” she says, looking the papers over. “So, congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Carter-Rogers, you’re now married.”

“Best plan I’ve ever had,” Peggy says, grinning. 

“I agree,” Steve says. “Now kiss me.”

She does.


	49. Don't Close the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Don't do this." -- Anon

Steve hasn’t fixed the creaky door. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t, just that it’s always been last on his to-do list.

Tonight, he’s glad he didn’t.

He wakes-up, realizing that he fell asleep on the couch. But the TV is off, and there’s a blanket on him, which slips off as he scrambles to his feet. “Bucky?” he asks.

Bucky is standing still, shadow outlined in the doorframe, light coming in through the hall. “Go back to sleep, Steve,” he says, quiet.

“Buck, where’re you going?” he slurs, groggy and not yet awake. He can only imagine what he looks like, hair askew and in nothing but his boxers and a t-shirt. Bucky, on the other hand, is dressed in jeans and a dark green jacket, with a backpack on, and carrying a duffle bag. Steve takes another few steps forward, closer now and reaching out to take Bucky’s arm.

He drops his hand at the last moment. He sees the way Bucky is looking at him.

“The door creaks,” Steve says.

“I noticed,” Bucky responds. His hair is pulled back, but a few whisps frames his face. Steve wants to reach out, to push them back behind his ears. Bucky sighs. “Go back to–”

“No,” Steve says. “Please don’t do this.”

“It’d be better for you, Steve. If you didn’t have to look after me all the time.”

“I want to,” Steve says. “And you look after me,” he admits, because now is not the time to hold things in. “I don’t want you to go.”

Bucky deflates. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“I’m not,” Steve promises. “Come, just, come spend the night. We can talk in the morning, I…” He swallows hard. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know where you are.”

“You won’t?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he admits. “I don’t think I’ve had a decent night’s sleep since we slept side by side, out on the front.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. He takes a shuddering breath. “I can stay,” he says.

“Stay with me?” he asks, but it comes out more as a statement.

Bucky looks up at him through his long lashes. “With you? In your bed?” Steve tries swallowing, but his throat is dry. He nods once. “Yes,” Bucky says. “I will.”

Steve holds on tight that night, and the next, and the next, and the next, and in the near future, he’ll be brave, and ask Bucky for a kiss, but now he’s happy just having this.


	50. Blood On Your Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Just once." -- oldsouldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Please check end notes for a warning!!

Steve made Bucky a promise a long time ago. “I’ll never drink from you,” he said. “I promise that as long as we live, I’ll never drink from you.”

He never asked if that was the way thinks Bucky wanted it.

—

“Steve!” Bucky screams, pushing through debris. Sam is shouting something behind him, but Bucky can’t hear. His eyes are trained on the lump of a figure that is Steve, laying in the fetal position. There’re wooden stakes all around, and _Steve isn’t responding_  and if he’s dead.

If he’s dead.

The building is burning around them, falling to pieces. Bucky loses Sam’s voice somewhere behind him, and he doesn’t even really remember the last time he saw Natasha. All he knows was that it was supposed to be a routine job for Steve, in and out, easy. But they all heard the ambush. And they all heard the coms go dead.

Finally,  _finally_  Bucky makes his way over to Steve, scrambling over fallen wood and reaching out to touch Steve’s shoulder. His hand comes away bloody. “Steve?” Bucky’s voice is shaking.

Steve groans, and something in Bucky’s chest contracts. He breathes again. “Stevie, baby, can you hear me? Steve, we gotta get outta here, there’s wood all over, you gotta be careful, you gotta–”

“Buck,” Steve interrupts, voice airy and faint. “Buck, I can’t get up.”

Bucky chokes back a sob. “Steve, yeah you can. Baby, you just gotta–”

“They drained me, Buck,” Steve says. He’s not opening his eyes. It looks like it physically pains him to speak. “I’m gonna die, Bucky, I’m gonna–”

“No you’re not!” Bucky looks around, frantic, and grabs a piece of wood.

“Buck, don’t–”

But it’s too late. Bucky slashes his forearm, grunting with pain. He hears Sam and Natasha, calling, still behind them. “Drink,” Bucky orders, holding his arm up to Steve’s lips, just far enough away that he’s not forcing Steve, not making him. 

“I promised,” Steve says. “I promised you I’d never–”

“Fuck your promises Steve, you gotta drink!”

Bucky can see Steve swallow. “Just once,” he whispers before latching on.

Bucky takes a shallow breath, eyes shutting, feeling Steve’s teeth, his suction. It’s like he can feel Steve, like he’s inside him. It’s everything, sex, and love, and _Steve_ , and–

And then Steve is pushing himself off, pretty pink mouth covered in Bucky’s blood. Bucky’s chest is heaving. Steve looks alert, taking in his surroundings with alarm. “We’ve gotta get out of here,” he says.

“No shit,” Bucky responds, “We–”

But he’s interrupted with a whoosh as Steve is up, picking Bucky up with one arm and running at his super vampire speed. At some point he grabs Sam and Natasha, and only moments later they’re out of the building, Steve dropping the lot of them a safe distance from the building. Steve drops to his knees, bending down to examine Bucky’s arm. “Are you alright?” he asks, fretting. “I didn’t take too much, I didn’t–”

“Steve,” Bucky says, pulling his arm delicately from Steve’s grasp. “I’m fine.”

Steve shuts his eyes, wrapping a bloody arm around Bucky’s torso and pulling him in, resting their foreheads against each other. “Good,” Steve says. “Thank you,” he whispers. “You saved me.”

Bucky hums, smiling. “Anything for you,” he says. “Even my blood, I guess.”

Steve snorts and Bucky leans down and kisses him, tasting his own blood on Steve’s lips. It’s not bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter includes someone purposefully cutting themselves.


	51. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” (Steggy) -- shadesofsky

Rogers is looking at her again. She’s doing paperwork, and he’s sitting on the opposite side of the room, fiddling with his uniform hat in his hands, and watching her. It’s not the first time–Steve always seems to manage to be near her. She doesn’t mind.

“You know,” she begins, not looking up from her paperwork. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” 

Peggy hazards a look over to Steve and is rewarded by the pretty pink blush spreading across his cheeks. “I can go,” he says, looking down.

“I like it.” She’s smiling, she can’t help herself. Steve looks up so fast she’s half-afraid his delicate neck will get whiplash. “In fact, I think I’d like you to look a little closer if you don’t mind.”

“What?” he asks.

Seems like she’ll have to do things herself. She stands up, smoothing her skirt and pushing her chair back into her desk. She crosses the room in a few efficient steps, watching Steve’s eyes grow wider as she does, nearly engulfing his bird-like features. “I’ll kiss you, if you’d like,” she says. 

He nods. It doesn’t look like the poor boy is  _breathing_ , and Peggy is grinning as she leans down, ready to press her lips to–

—

She wakes-up with a touch to her shoulder. “Peggy?” Daniel asks, looking down at her with something like concern. She groans. “You were sleeping at your desk.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she says, quiet. “Won’t be the last.” 

He smiles. “Let me get you a cup of coffee.”

She straightens up, trying to catch the last remnants of a dream she knew was good. “No thank you,” she says. “I’m fine.”


	52. At the Record Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Kiss me." -- Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dorky hipster AU.

“What?” Steve asks. A minute ago he was sorting records, and now Bucky is looking at him with wide eyes, chest hair peeping out through the flannel he’s wearing. He’s sitting on top of the counter, legs spread wide.

“Think you heard me,” Bucky says, but he’s smiling. “You don’t gotta if you don’t wanna, but I thought I’d give you the option.”

“Option?”

“Of kissing me.”

They’ve been hanging out a few weeks, since Natasha introduced them at a concert. But it’s been friendly up until now, just Bucky coming to the store and helping Steve out sorting records, maybe grabbing a sandwich together after. Bucky works at a garage a few blocks over, but lately he’s been ending his shifts and heading straight over to the shop, freshly washed and smelling like soap. Like he is right now.

“That’s technically an order, not an option,” Steve says, setting the record he’s been holding down.

“Are you really arguing with me?” Bucky asks, wide smile a little guarded. “If you don’t wanna kiss me then–”

“I never said I didn’t wanna kiss you,” Steve retorts, moving a little closer to Bucky, slotting himself between his legs.

“Then why aren’t you kissin’ me?” Bucky asks, reaching out and touching the cuff of Steve’s denim jacket. He looks almost sweet, and Steve wants so badly to give him what he wants, to kiss him and to run his fingers through his long hair. But–

“I don’t like doing things people tell me to. You know me well enough to know that.”

But rather than roll his eyes, or to give up, Bucky moves his hand down to intertwine his fingers with Steve’s, and gently wraps his legs around Steve’s. “Then please,” Bucky says. “Kiss me Steve. End my agony.”

“Dramatic,” Steve says, moving close. He can feel Bucky chuckling underneath his lips before Steve leans in and kisses him good.


	53. Thin Line Between Love and Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "“I wish I could hate you.” MAKE ME CRY (a little)" -- demiosluna

“Fuck you,” Bucky spits. “And fuck therapy.” He shoves his jean jacket off his shoulders, balls it up and throws it onto the couch next to Steve. Steve winces; he hates it when Bucky does this.

“What happened?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice level, looking up at Bucky from where he’s looming over the couch.

Bucky clenches his jaw. “None of your fucking business, Steve,” he says, but he doesn’t move, just stands there, staring.

Steve isn’t scared. He stares back. “Alright,” he says, after a beat. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m not goin’ back,” Bucky says.

“Then we’ll find you another–”

“I’m not goin’ to anybody.” Bucky’s eyes are wide. “They all tell me the same shit and you can’t–”

“Bucky,” Steve says, starting to lose his patience. He doesn’t do it often, but he’s not perfect, and they’re coming off a tense week. “You have to go to someone.”

“No.”

Steve tries another tactic. “Bucky, what are they saying that’s upsetting you? We can try to–”

“Shut up!” Bucky yells. “Shut up, Jesus Christ, why do you never shut up?”

“Because I care, and I want to–”

“You should  _hate_  me,” Bucky says, voice cracking. His flesh hand is shaking, and his blue eyes become red, and watery. “You shouldn’t let me talk to you this way. You shouldn’t care so much.”

“Since when have I listened to anything you’ve told me to do?” Steve asks, trying to smile.

Bucky takes a few slow, stumbling steps forward before fumbling, moving down to his knees, in front of Steve, resting his forehead against Steve’s knee. “I wish I could hate you,” he mumbles. “If I hated you, then I wouldn’t keep comin’ back, fuckin’ up your life.”

“Bucky?”

“I’m sorry I said fuck you. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” Steve reaches out and runs his fingers through Bucky’s long, tangled hair once. Bucky takes a shuddering breath but doesn’t flinch, doesn’t ask him to stop, so he continues. “Bucky, I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I don’t.” They sit silently for a long minute. Then Bucky says, “They always tell me the same thing.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Steve says, quiet, enjoying the quiet moment.

“They tell me that I’m in love with you.”

“Oh,” Steve says, careful to keep stroking, pretending to be calm as his heart hammers in his chest. “And… uh, are you?”

“I…” Bucky burrows his forehead against Steve’s knee. “I dunno. I’m scared. I don’t wanna fuck this up.” Steve feels his own eyes get watery, and has to blink back his tears. “I can’t make you hate me.”

“I’d never hate you.” It takes all of the courage in his body to lean down and press a kiss against Bucky’s greasy hair. When he pulls away, Bucky looks up at him with wide eyes for the first time in what feels like ages. “I love you.”

It takes a moment of tenseness, a moment where Bucky doesn’t seem like he’s even breathing, where Steve’s heart feels like it’ll break from his ribcage and place itself directly in Bucky’s metal hand, his to do with as he pleases.

And then Bucky smiles.

It’s wide, and warm, and tears silently stream from his eyes. “You’re not just sayin’ that?” he murmurs.

Steve shakes his head. “I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you a long, long time.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, glancing down again. “In that case…” He slowly stands up and gently sits down next to Steve on the couch, sides up against each other, Bucky warm and thick and real. Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s knee and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve looks over; Bucky’s eyes are shut, eyelids tight. “I love you, too.”


	54. Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to the Ghost AU (chapter 37) that made everyone cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Tumblr user oldsouldier.

There’s a sharp knock on Steve’s door. Steve glances at his watch—it’s just after six, and who the hell is up and bothering their neighbors at six in the morning? That’s not polite.

Then again, Steve is up, so it’s not all that bad. (He hasn’t been sleeping, is the problem.)

He sets down his mug of tea and shuffles over to the door. He’s in his pajamas—a black tank top and slouchy pair of plaid pajama pants, frayed at the bottom because everything is too long for Steve’s short legs. Sometimes he’ll go to the Dry Cleaners down the street and get things tailored, but it seems so unnecessary to do that with his pajama bottoms, especially since his feet get cold anyway.

When he gets to the door he goes up on his tiptoes to look through the peephole out to the hallway. And then he falls back onto his feet and takes a few steps back.

Because Bucky Barnes is standing outside his door.

**…**

It’s been three months since Bucky… Left? Ascended? Disappeared? Steve still doesn’t really know how to categorize it. Or their short-lived relationship. Or really anything about what happened at all. Sam told him to go to a psychic, or to have a seance, but the last thing he wants is to call Bucky back when he just… left.

And it’s been tough. Feelings aside, Steve was used to living with a roommate. It’s hard to go from having Bucky sitting on the couch with him to coming home to an empty room, no one waiting with the remote and complaining about the lack of options on Netflix. Suddenly no one cares how his day was, or knows to bring his inhaler to him when he’s having an asthma attack. It’s selfish, but sometimes he wishes Bucky were still here, floating around and smiling.

Steve misses Bucky’s smile.

It’s with that image in his mind that he takes one step, then another back towards the door of his apartment. He undoes the deadbolt, and then the other lock, and opens it up.

And it’s not Bucky Barnes.

**…**

Or well, sort of. They could be identical, except this Bucky has long, scraggly hair falling from the ponytail at the nape of his neck, skinny jeans and a worn black t-shirt with the name of some band Steve’s never heard of. He’s got a backpack, and a flannel shirt tied around his waist. On his feet are a pair of red Converse that are more hole than shoe. His American flag socks stick out from the holes, and Steve’s heart is beating really, really fast.

“Um, hi?” Bucky—or not Bucky—asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back onto his heels. “Sorry to bother you, but, um.” He clears his throat, laughing a little and glancing away from Steve. “This was, um, my great-great-uncle’s apartment and I’m, um, wondering if you saw… A ghost.” He winces, realizing how stupid he sounds.

But it’s not a stupid question.

“Yes,” Steve says, and Not Bucky opens his eyes again. “Wanna come in?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Not Bucky says. “If you don’t mind.”

Steve shrugs and steps aside, and Not Bucky wanders inside. “I’m guessin’ it didn’t look like this in the 1930s,” he says, taking in everything about Steve’s apartment. He’s been here for long enough that it’s beginning to feel like his own—there’s some art from his friends on the walls, and the bookshelves are finally filled up. The couch has a few mismatching blankets on it, and the kitchen… Well, the kitchen’s a bit of a mess, but what can you do when the great-great-grandnephew of your ghost lover shows up unannounced at six in the morning.

“It was remodeled late in the ‘90s,” Steve responds. “Want some tea?” he asks.

Not Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.” He pauses. “I’m Jimmy, by the way. Jimmy Barnes.”

“Short for James?” Steve asks, reaching his hand out.

“Family name,” Jimmy says, shrugging. He gives Steve a little look, like he’s expecting something, and Steve nearly blushes.

“Steve Rogers,” he says.

“So,” Jimmy says. “You say you saw a ghost?” he prompts.

And, well, Steve thinks he should leave a few things out. Like about how he fucked the ghost. So he just shrugs a little. “Yeah, a few things here and there. He was James, right?” Jimmy nods. “We spoke a few times, I think,” Steve says, twirling the teabag around his mug. When he glances up, Jimmy is staring at him. “It sounds crazy,” Steve says, then looks back at his tea. “But we did.”

“What’d he tell you?” Jimmy asks, taking a seat across the island from Steve.

“Um, about his past. World War II, got his arm shot in Italy…”

Steve relays the basics of what he learned about Bucky’s past, and Jimmy’s eyes get wider and wider before he says, “No one else knows any of that,” he says. “And it’s not like anyone outside the family remembers him.”

“Yeah, he’s not really in the history books,” Steve agrees, and frowns.

Jimmy takes a deep breath. “You think he’d talk to me?” he asks, a little shy.

Steve’s face falls. “I’m sure he would but he’s gone,” Steve says.

“What?” Jimmy asks. “He’s been here since World War II, and you said—“

“I figured out what it was he was still on earth for,” Steve says, choosing his words carefully. “He told me his secret, and then he…” He swallows hard. Sam’s the only person who knew anything about any of this, and it feels so strange to say it to anyone else. “We were friends,” he adds softly.

Jimmy deflates. “You don’t look like you’re kiddin’.” The bit of Brooklyn in Jimmy’s voice makes Steve’s chest ache. “God, can’t believe I was too late. Everyone kept talking about how Uncle Bucky was haunting the old apartment, but no one ever really believed it.” He sighs. “So… I gotta ask. What was the kept on earth big secret?”

Steve is conflicted. On one hand, it was Bucky’s big, greatest secret. Something that Steve’s not sure that Bucky ever even realized about himself.

He shakes his head. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

Instead of getting angry, Jimmy smiles. “‘Fraid he’ll come haunt you again?”

Steve feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, but he tries to keep his voice light as he says, “Something like that.”

There’s a pause.

“So,” Jimmy says. “Looks like I bothered you for nothing.”

Steve shrugs. “Wasn’t a bother.”

“Let me make it up to you?” Jimmy suggests, shifting his backpack on his shoulder, maybe a little shy. “You can put on some pants and I’ll take you out to breakfast, or something?”

He shifts again, and Steve can see the rainbow button on his backpack.

Jimmy is not Bucky.

But Bucky is gone, and Jimmy is here, and breakfast doesn’t mean anything at all.

“Sure,” Steve says. “Just gimme a minute.”

And maybe Bucky is gone, but Bucky also wanted Steve to live. So he’s gonna try.


	55. The Poor Groom's Bride is a Hulk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt by sebstanpai: you’re the bride’s friend and i’m the groom’s and the bride’s “true love” just burst into the wedding and now everything is super awkward do you wanna get out of here??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually go to a lot of weddings, so I'm not entirely sure how this works.

Steve cannot stop thinking about Clint’s best man. They met briefly at the rehearsal dinner, but there was the whole snafu with Natasha dropping out at the last minute shading the entire thing. The guy had to have his name haphazardly written in on his name card. Natasha’s was still visible. It was all weird.

No one knew why Natasha walked out of being Clint’s Best Not Man, but even if Steve wouldn’t be able to hang out with Natasha, he appreciates the view.

“I’m nervous,” Bruce whispers to Steve. Tony is Bruce’s best man, but Steve is one of the groomsmen, and probably a bit better to talk to in this situation than Tony would be. Tony would suggest shots. Steve would suggest a deep breath.

“Take a deep breath, Bruce. You’re marrying the guy of your dreams.” Or at least, Steve thinks he’s about to marry the guy of his dreams. This whole thing happened so quickly Steve nearly got whiplash. One minute Bruce was dating Natasha, and the next he was engaged to Clint. Frankly, it was confusing.

But Clint’s best man–Bertram? Borky?–is wearing a tailored navy suit with a black shirt and tie, and he looks _amazing_.

Bruce takes a breath. “Thanks Steve,” he says, and then the music begins, and the ceremony starts.

—-

“And if anyone has any objections to this couple getting married, speak now or forever–”

The doors to the church slam open. Heads turn, and Natasha strides in wearing jeans, sunglasses and a leather jacket. “Clint,” she says authoritatively, pushing her sunglasses up to the top of her head. “Let’s go.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Steve turns from Natasha to Clint, then back to Natasha, then back to Clint. And then Natasha again. Then Clint, because no one is talking or moving, or anything. Then Clint clears his throat, turns from Natasha to Bruce and says, “I’m sorry buddy” before turning to walk down the aisle. There’re gasps in the audience, which double as Clint face plants two steps into his departure, ripping the leg of his tuxedo. He scrambles up, says, “Aw wedding” before reaching Natasha, taking her hand and running out of the church with her. The doors slam behind them.

As if on cue, everyone turns to Bruce. “Well,” he says. “We still have an open bar.”

—-

“Bad luck.” Steve jumps a little at the voice, spilling his half-drunk gin and tonic in the process. He looks up, and Borky is smiling. “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“No, no, it’s been a very startling day.” 

“Got that right.” They both look over at where Bruce and Tony are taking flaming tequila shots at the bar. “Think he’ll be okay?”

Steve hums. “Yeah,” he says. “I think so.”

“So, I know this is a little late, but my name is Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky. Not Borky. Close though.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve says.

“Anyhow, I have a room in the hotel for the night, if you wanted to–”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says. “Let’s get outta here.”

At least someone ended the night well.


	56. What Can You Write In 5 Minutes?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> biblionerd07 tagged me in a five minute fic writing challenge. this was the result.

Steve is cheating on Bucky.

Bucky knows, because Steve has been staying out past 8 pm, then coming home with this dopey little smile on his face. “Hey Buck,” he says, flopping down next to Bucky on the couch, swinging an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “How was your day?”

Yeah no. Bucky isn’t buying it.

He doesn’t buy that Steve is hanging out with Tony—which is to say, that he also knows Steve’s affair isn’t with Tony—or that his paperwork takes him that long. Steve doesn’t _do_ paperwork. Carter got on him for that all the time. And with every passing night that Steve comes home, flops down, and kisses Bucky’s cheek, Bucky comes up with more scenarios: an uncomplicated barista who has found a way to inject so much caffeine into a drink that even Steve’s super soldier metabolism can handle it, or maybe a kind zookeeper who let Steve pet a lemur. It goes on.

“Don’t,” Bucky says one night, just as Steve is about to flop. “I don’t need your floppin’. I need the truth.”

“Truth?” Steve asks, dopey smile falling from his lips. “Buck, the truth about what?”

“Where you were?” Bucky says, internally wincing at just how stupid and pathetic he sounds. “Where you go every goddamn night.”

“I was out with—“

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s true,” Bucky says. He can’t even bring himself to look at Steve, so he folds his arms over his chest and stares at the TV. “You would’ve invited me at least once in the past month and a half.”

Steve sits down gingerly—he doesn’t flop.

“Buck,” he says, quiet, plaintive, “Buck, please look at me.” Heaving a sigh, Bucky does. “You’re right—I haven’t been entirely truthful.”

“Ha,” Bucky says as his heart slowly breaks.

“But I’m not cheating on you, Bucky, I never would. Believe me.” Sure Steve, sure. “It’s just…” He swallows hard. “I bought some studio space, and at first it was just for kicks, for something to do. But now…” His smile comes back, smaller and pained. “Buck, I’m going to mount a show. I didn’t want anyone to know. But I’m going to.” He smiles. “And I want you to be my date.”

And, well, Bucky can hardly say no to that.


	57. A Sad Morning with Jacques-Ignace de la Touche (just kidding; that's impossible)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hello. I've had a rather bad day and was hoping, if you have some time, for a little ficlet, or a few headcanons even, of everyone being baffled by how much Jaques-Ignace de la Touche loves Bucky, or just of Avengers and Steve and Bucky and Jaques-Ignace de la Touche. Thank you! - Anon

One morning, Bucky doesn’t boop Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s nose. He wakes-up even later than usual, after Steve’s run and Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s poop and breakfast. He shuffles out of the bedroom, hair messy, wearing pajama pants and a tank top. This in of itself isn’t unusual, but he looks… emotionless. He doesn’t even look down at Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s wagging tail, doesn’t flinch when he yips and whines at Bucky’s heels. Steve watches Bucky head towards the coffee pot, fills himself a cup and takes a sip without complaining about the taste, or asking how Steve’s run was.

Then he walks back into the bedroom and shuts the door in Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s face.

Jacques-Ignace de la Touche spends a few seconds whining and pawing at the closed door before turning to Steve.

“Don’t look at me,” Steve whispers. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche tootles over to him, begins pawing at his calves and whining. “Hey, hey, I wanna talk to him, too.” Steve feels his voice falling, going soft and sad. It’s been a while since Bucky had a bad day, and Steve had almost forgotten how tough it is to have the door shut on him. “But sometimes it’s better to let him be, let him get some sleep.”

Jacques-Ignace de la Touche follows Steve to the couch, and Steve scoops him up and sets him on his lap. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s tail wags wildly as he runs across Steve’s legs; he doesn’t seem to be able to sit still, and Steve sighs. “Please,” he says, quiet. “We’ve got to be patient, we’ve got to be–”

And then Jacques-Ignace de la Touche begins glowing.

“Shit,” Steve says. “Jacques-Ignace de la Touche, please don’t–”

Too late. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche flys through the room, zooming over to the door to the bedroom. Before Steve is even a foot from the couch, Jacques-Ignace de la Touch burns a loaf-shaped hole through the door, letting himself inside. Quietly swearing, Steve follows, opening the door to the room and opening the door, an apology on his lips when–

When he sees Jacques-Ignace de la Touche hovering quietly next to Bucky’s face, panting and glowing, and obviously waiting for a boop. 

There’s a tense moment, and then Bucky–sitting against the headboard, blue rings underneath his eyes–gently touches Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s nose, whispering, “Boop. Sorry buddy, boop.” A moment later, Bucky’s face is scrunching up, cheeks turning red, tears pouring down his face. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche floats to Bucky’s shoulder and settles down there, Bucky’s arms reflexively reaching up to hold him close and tight. 

Steve looks on, hovering in the doorway, not sure if he’s intruding or not. Bucky’s still crying, chest heaving, and he wants to go over to him. But the door was shut, and Steve’s not sure that he’s wanted, that he’s–

Then Bucky is looking up at him, smiling through his tears as he gently pets Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s back. “C’mere,” he says. “Gotta have both my guys.”

Something warm blooms through Steve’s chest and he makes it to the bed in record time. He climbs next to Bucky and rests his forehead against Bucky’s temple. “I love you,” Steve says quiet and urgent. “I love you, I love you, I–”

“Love you?” Bucky finishes.

“Love you,” Steve affirms, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche yips in agreement, and Steve thinks that this is a weird family, but it’s his. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

**…**

“Steve?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna need a new door.”

Steve shrugs, snuggles closer. Jacques-Ignace de la Touche is snoozing quietly on Bucky’s lap, and Steve was halfway to dozing himself. “Let’s keep it for a while,” Steve says. “Let’s us make sure Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s always got a way inside.”

Bucky takes a shuddering breath. “This is good,” he says.

“Yeah,” Steve says, resting a hand on Jacques-Ignace de la Touche’s back and looking up at Bucky with a smile. “It is.”


	58. Susan B. Anthony Rogers-Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I WISH YOU WOULD WRITE A FANFIC WHERE CHRISTMAS COOKIES ARE BAKED AND EVERYONE LIVES HAPPILY EVER AFTER WITH A BIG ENGLISH BULLDOG NAMED SUSAN B. ANTHONY ROGERS-BARNES. - shadesofsky

“Got ‘em?” Bucky asks, looking over his shoulder, careful not to stumble back since Susan B. Anthony Rogers-Barnes is trotting closely at his heels.

“Yeah, I got ‘em,” Steve responds, pulling a plastic-wrapped crystal serving tray of sugar cookies out of the car. “What, think I can’t handle a plate of cookies?”

“Can’t handle much of anythin’,” Bucky mutters. Susan B. Anthony Rogers-Barnes grunts, and Bucky smugly takes it as a sign of agreement.

“Are you talking about last night?” Steve asks, hurrying along to catch-up with Bucky and Susan B. Anthony Rogers-Barnes. “Because last night was–”

“Hilarious,” Bucky interrupts. He turns, just in time to see Steve’s (adorable) frowny face, and Bucky just grins. Trying to keep the big vat of boozy punch they made steady, he leans over and elbows Steve in the side.

“ _Hey_ ,” Steve says.

“Hey~,” Bucky responds, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t say I didn’t like last–”

“Hey boys,” Natasha interrupts, sticking her head out from the window of Clint’s apartments. “And Susan,” she adds when she notices Susan B. Anthony Rogers-Barnes. “You guys comin’ up, or do I have to drag you?”

“We’re comin’, we’re comin’,” Bucky grouses. “Hold on.”

“Better hurry up, or all the weenies in dough will be gone!” she teases before popping back inside and shutting the window.

Bucky stares, wide-eyed. “She’s kiddin’, right?” he asks. The weenies in dough are his favorite. “She said there’d be weenies in dough. I’m leaving if there aren’t any–”

Steve cuts him off with a peck.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. 

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” he says.

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky responds. “But stop distractin’ me! I need my weenies!”

Steve laughs, and Susan B. Anthony Rogers-Barnes trots behind James Buchanan Rogers-Barnes into the apartment building, and it’s the best Christmas Steve can ever remember having.


	59. On the Radio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Mambo, I saw the AU list you reposted and I just need to tell you. The second one is an Actual Thing that happened to my sister. The Boy made a band, and wrote tragic songs about how he lost her, and they went to WARPED TOUR and performed it and just. They are now married and happy but if you write one of those please do that one. I don't even care what pairing it is. I just need it to happen. Thank you. ;_; - Anon
> 
> omfg please please i need the “this is so unfair there’s this song getting popular and the singer sounds like you and all these lyrics almost sound like they could be about me but you’re singing about lost love and you weren’t in love with me wait I’m watching the music video and crying and hey that’s definitely you wtf” au i will love you forever bro (jk i already do) - Another Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no lyricist and have never pretended to be one.

The song is on every time Sam turns on the goddamn radio.

_I’m a jerk, you’re an ass_

_But God, do I miss your sass_

_You sat next to me and never knew_

_That all I thought about was you_

_You asked how I was_

_I said I was fine_

_Find me at the end of the line_

_Please find me at the end of the line_

Steve hates the goddamn song.

“I don’t get it,” Sam says. “This song is great. It’s like _Take Me to Church_ for the suburban soul.”

“That’s the whole problem,” Steve responds, mounting a painting in the Greenwich Village gallery they co-own. “It’s… familiar.” Steve finishes fiddling with the painting, making sure it’s level. He steps off of his stepladder and turns to Sam, who is giving him a look. “What?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Sam says, feigning nonchalance. “Just laughing at your self-centeredness.”

Steve rolls his eyes before folding up the stepladder and stashing it behind the desk. “It’s the phrase ‘end of the line.’ I had this guy who I loved in high school. We were childhood friends.”

“Back when you were tiny and cute?” Sam asks.

Steve sighs, but nods. “Yeah, back when I was sick all the time and got beat up… He was always there, helping me out. I’d tell him he shouldn’t bother, that it wasn’t worth his time, and he’d tell me that. That he’d be there ’till the end of the line.”

“Okay,” Sam says, moving to lean against the desk. “That’s a little spooky. What happened to him?”

Steve shrugs. “We got into a fight one night during our sophomore year of college.” He remembers the drunken conversation, the confession, the resounding silence when he tried to message Bucky the next morning. “I haven’t heard from him since.” Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I don’t think about Bucky that much anymore. But there’s something about that song that reminds me of him. The words, the voice, maybe.” Steve shakes his head. “I don’t like the song.”

“Shit Steve, I’ll turn it off.” Sam says, reaching for the laptop next to Steve.

“Nah,” Steve says. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

**…**

Steve is halfway through an oil painting when the radio DJ starts talking.

“Everyone on Twitter is excited for the premiere of the Howling Commandos’ music video for their smash hit single _‘Till the End of the Line_. #HowlingCommandos is trending, and the band has been posting teasers from it all day. It’ll premiere in just a few minutes at 8 pm Eastern Standard Time, but until then let’s listen to one of the band’s other songs, _Winter_.”

Steve glances at his wristwatch. It’s 7:58, and he could use a break. He puts down his brushes and paints, and heads into his bedroom to boot up his laptop. By the time he’s opened his Internet browser, it’s 8:04, and the music video pops right up when he types the title into Youtube.

And all he can say is “Fuck.”

**…**

The music video begins with a close-up shot of Bucky fuckin’ Barnes’ blue eyes. Steve would recognize them anywhere; he spent enough nights staring at them, snuggled close together in twin beds as they chuckled quietly enough not to wake their parents. The first chords begin, and the rest of the song is Steve’s life story. Literally.

Bucky Barnes sings as an artful movie of two young boys grow up together, the dark-haired one throwing wistful glances at the blond one as they grow up, elbowing each other and laughing. It even shows their fight, the grown-up versions of themselves fighting on the phone, the dark-haired man shedding a manly tear as Bucky Barnes and his band play in the background.

When it finishes all Steve can do is stare at the screen and say, “What the fuck?”

**…**

It takes Steve about forty-five seconds of staring blankly at the screen before he realizes that he’s _furious_. Fucking furious because _he_ was the one who loved Bucky, _he_ was the one who spent a solid week crying after he realized that Bucky was never going to talk to him again. Bucky taking his story and coopting it for a best-selling single is cruel. It’s cruel, and unlike the Bucky he knew.

So he does something stupid.

Steve has never been someone to show a lot of self-restraint when it comes to his anger. It was Bucky’s job to pull him out of fights, and now it’s Sam’s. But tonight? Steve is alone, and he never deleted Bucky’s cellphone number.  It’s a shot in the dark; Steve has no idea if Bucky’s kept the same number.

But apparently he has, because Bucky picks up.

“Hullo?” he hears on the other side of the line, and it’s almost like Steve’s heart skips a beat. He thought he’d leave an angry message. He thought Bucky wouldn’t pick up. He thought a lot of things, but now all he can think about is how the last time they spoke, Bucky broke Steve’s heart. “Steve?” Bucky asks, voice a little quiet.

“You…” Steve starts, but there’s a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes, and he doesn’t know where they came from.

“Steve, is that… Did you…” Bucky must be as freaked out as Steve is. Neither are making any sense at all.

“That was me,” Steve says, finally finding his voice. “That was my story. You took my story and you used it and I—“

“Your story?” Bucky asks, voice rising. “You ruined me, Steve. You laughed when I told you I loved you.”

“What the hell?” Steve yells. “ _I_ told you I loved you and you never spoke to me again! And now I have to listen to you on the radio, singing like you were the one who was hurt.” Steve swallows, and his voice comes out raw. “That’s my story. You can’t have it.”

They’re silent for a moment. “Are you in New York?” Bucky asks.

“Why?” Steve responds.

“I wanna talk to you. I wanna understand. Because I think we may’ve fucked things up and I gotta figure out what happened. You were my best friend and I loved you. I can’t stand the thought of you hating me every time you turn on your radio.”

Steve wants to say no. Steve almost says no. But instead Steve says, “How soon can you meet?”

**…**

**_Two Years Later_ **

**…**

Sam turns on the radio just in time to hear the last few chords of the Howling Commandos’ new song, _Your Bucky_. He sighs; he really likes that one. It makes Steve embarrassed as hell, but Sam knows he loves it. When the song ends the DJ begins to talk, “And that was the Howling Commandos’ _Your Bucky_ , which premiered a month ago as a surprise proposal to the Howling Commandos’ lead singer’s now-fiancee. Cute stuff everybody. We’re all hoping that the band will premiere something new tomorrow at their wedding, but who knows what’ll happen. Either way, it’s always great to see young love.”

Sam nods. “Ain’t that the truth,” he mutters as he closes up shop.


	60. Traffic Safety Violations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You should write the “oh my god i just hit someone with my car and it’s you hey i’m sorry are you okay please don’t sue?” au with steve/bucky if you're down *finger guns* - stevebarnacles

“Oh _shit_!” Steve’s driver yells just as there’s a sickening crunching noise.

Steve stares wide-eyed from the backseat, frozen for a moment because oh my god, did Tony’s driver really just hit a bicyclist??

And then Steve is hopping out of the car because well, fuck. Tony’s driver did hit a bicyclist. Steve knew he shouldn’t have taken Tony’s offer and should’ve just taken the subway back home. But no, he had to go with the rich guy option and let Peter drive him home. Peter, who is barely nineteen and will probably lose his job over this.

Steve just needs to figure out how to work this out so that everyone is okay.

He jogs over to the guy, who is pulling himself up. “Hey man, are you okay? Do you need an ambulance? Lemme call—“

The guy looks up and his eyes get wide. “What the fuck, Steve?”

“Bucky?”

“YOU HATE ME SO MUCH YOU HIT ME WITH YOUR FUCKIN’ CAR? WHAT THE FUCK, STEVE? WHAT THE FUCK?”

Steve clenches his jaw. “Okay, for starters, _I_ didn’t hit you with a car. _I_ was in the backseat.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Bucky Barnes!”

“Oh _excuse_ me, Steve. Didn’t realize that your nagging would continue after we broke up, let alone after I got _hit by a car_.”

“We broke-up?” Steve asks, aghast. “You were the one who _left the state_ the day I proposed!”

“I went to North Dakota because my sister had cancer,” Bucky says, and that stops Steve a little short. He shuts his mouth quick as Bucky looks down.

“Becca?” he asks. Bucky nods, biting down on his lip. “Is she…?” Steve can’t bring himself to say dead.

Bucky sighs. “No,” he says. “She went through chemo. She got better. No one expected it.” He looks up at Steve. “But that’s why I left. It was all just a lot, and I left.”

They just look at each other for a beat. And then Steve realizes that Bucky is _still on the ground_. “Here,” he says, reaching a hand out. “Lemme help you up.”

Almost to Steve’s surprise, Bucky takes his hand. It takes a bit of effort, but Steve manages to get him up. Bucky stumbles a little, almost knocking into Steve. “Sorry,” he says, quiet.

“’S alright,” Steve says, looking up at Bucky. He looks really good.

Even after he’s literally been hit by a car.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” Steve asks, returning to reality. “Peter can drive you.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, waving his hand. “The car was goin’ slow and I’m tough.”

“Tough until you find out that you have a broken rib later tonight.”

Instead of rolling his eyes, Bucky barks out a laugh. “God Steve, you’re just…” He trails off, looking at Steve with blue fond eyes. “You know what you could do for me?” he asks.

“What?”

“Come with me for a cup of coffee?” he asks, sounding almost shy. “I just wanna talk a little, maybe explain stuff a little better.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”

**…**

Bucky doesn’t sue and Peter doesn’t lose his job. And three weeks later, Steve and Bucky have their second first kiss on a hospital bed, because Bucky actually tore a ligament.

“Worth it,” he says, pulling away.

“Idiot,” Steve responds, but he’s smiling.


	61. Times Square Minion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "prompt: “so i know we just reunited but mind explaining how your whole life went to hell?” au" - oldsouldier

The only thing more surprising than seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in seven years, is seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in seven years as one of the creepy off-brand Minions walking around Times Square.

“So…” Bucky says, pulling Steve up from where he fell over while Becca grabs the top of his Minion cap. “How’ve you been?” he asks, sort of at a loss at what to say.

“Better,” Steve admits, looking sheepish and _tall_. When’d Steve get so _tall_?

“Gotta say I didn’t expect to see you here,” Bucky says over the dull roar of the crowd. He hates Times Square, but all Becca wanted for her birthday were tickets to see _Aladdin_ , so there they are, walking out of a matinee performance and headed to Junior’s to get some dessert before they get on the subway. Becca is still buzzing, humming _A Whole New World_ and looking at the dirty Manhattan streets like they’re paved in gold, so it’d make sense that she’d _ooh_ and _ahh_ at the guy dressed in the mediocre Minions costume. Bucky just didn’t expect that Steve Rogers, Most Likely To Be In the MoMA, would be inside of it.

“Me neither,” Steve says, looking down with reddening cheeks, and _shit_. Bucky thinks. He made Steve look that way.

He always did have a soft spot for Steve Rogers.

“Hey, we’re headin’ to Junior’s. Can you come with us?”

“ _Dad_ ,” Becca whines.

“Um,” Steve says. “I’m dressed as a Minion.”

Bucky shrugs. “Remember when you dressed as Mickey Mouse?”

Steve’s eyes get a little wide. “We were ten. It was Halloween.” He pauses. “I could… take off the costume?” he asks.

“Sure buddy, whatever you gotta do.”

So that’s how they end up waiting by the bathroom at the M&M Store, and how Bucky has to spend $20 on a green M&M doll that he knows Becca will just add to the growing pile in her bedroom, but which he can’t resist in the moment. Thankfully, Steve’s costume folds up into a big backpack. He’s dressed pretty normally, but is quiet on the way to the restaurant. They get seated quickly, and of course, Becca’s gotta pee, so she runs off to the bathroom.

“Didn’t know you had a daughter,” Steve says.

Bucky watches her back as she disappears towards the restroom. “Got married young,” Bucky says. “Her ma has a job that causes her to be out of the country a lot. We’re still okay, but…” Bucky trails off, then shrugs. “I take care of Becca during the year, and then she goes with her mom to wherever over the summer.” Steve looks grave, so Bucky changes the subject. “How’d you end up as a Minion?”

Bad move. Steve looks like he’s in _pain_.

“Being an artist doesn’t pay a lot.” He swallows hard. “I was seeing someone and they kicked me out.”

“You got a place to stay?” Bucky asks.

Steve doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve been couch-surfing.”

They just look at each other for a moment, neither in the situation they thought they’d be in, but somehow in New York’s kitschiest restaurant together, years later.

Then Becca returns and asks Steve what kind of cake he’s going to get, and they spend a while just catching up.

**…**

“You want a job?” Bucky asks, cradling Becca on his side as she gently snoozes, the excitement of the day getting to her as they left the restaurant.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Becca needs a new sitter and I could use someone around the house. We’ve got a guest room; it’s yours if you want it. Just take this one,” he says, shifting Becca up, “To her ballet lessons.”

“You’re joking, right?” Steve says, and Bucky can feel his cheeks begin to heat up. It was a dumb idea from a dumb guy. It was— “That’d be so amazing, Bucky. That’d be…” Steve trails off and huffs a breath. Then he leans over and pecks Bucky on the lips. Bucky barely has the time to process that Steve just gave Bucky his first kiss since Natasha left before Steve pulls away, a pretty blush spreading across his cheeks. “I’ve wanted to do that since I was twelve,” he says, maybe a little defiant. “And it seemed right.”

Bucky can’t help but smile. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s grab a cab.”

And they do.


	62. Everything Goes Well With Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Kid!fic prompt: "I left you two alone for ONE HOUR to go grocery shopping and you've turned the lounge into a giant fort. Do I have a husband and a child or two children???"" -- Anon

Bucky regrets spending so much time picking out the wine. Maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t spent a half hour talking to the store’s manager about what reasonably-priced wine goes best with paella, and he wouldn’t have come home to his home destroyed.

“You’re being dramatic,” Steve says as Bucky sets their reusable bags down on the kitchen counter.

“Steve, we’re supposed to have Clint and Natasha over in an hour and a half. You were supposed to start the appetizers while I was at the store, and now we have to—“

“Buck,” Steve starts. Bucky sighs. “ _Buck_ ,” Steve repeats, looking over at the blanket fort that has engulfed their living room pointedly. “Sarah came home with a skinned knee and a story about Alex Pierce pushing her while they waited for the bus. After I got off the phone with Mr. Sitwell, I wanted to do something to cheer her up.”

Bucky snorts. “Bet you gave Mr. Sitwell a piece of your mind.”

Steve puffs up all five feet and four inches of himself. “I like to think he’ll pay a little more attention when he’s on bus duty from now on.”

Bucky can’t help but smile at his little ball-busting husband. “Fine,” he says, “Alright. Let’s tell Clint and Nat to bring pizza. We can eat it with Sarah in the fort.”

From inside the fort there’s a little squeal of delight.

“But we’re still drinking the wine,” Bucky amends, solemn. “I spent a half hour picking this one out.”

“Think it goes well with pizza?” Steve asks.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Everything does.”


	63. Must Love Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "(same anon) OR bucky's kid is absolutely set on dad quitting his moping and dating people again and his/her new art teacher steve looks like a disney prince and is so nice and dad you HAVE TO ASK MR. ROGERS OUT" - Anon

Mr. Rogers has golden hair.

It takes Monty a few art classes to notice. They only have art once a week, and he’s usually busy trying to draw or collage puppies, because he really wants a puppy, and thinks that if he makes a lot of art of puppies then maybe daddy will get one for him. But then Mr. Rogers bends down, grabs a crayon from where it rolled off the table and Monty gets a really good look at his golden hair. When Mr. Rogers stands up, he puts the crayon back on the table, and says, “Another puppy?” Mr. Rogers asks.

Monty nods. “I want a puppy.”

“What kind of puppy?”

Monty shrugs. “Any puppy.” He pauses, then adds, “You should talk to my daddy, then you can come pick out a puppy with us.”

Mr. Rogers chuckles. “I’m not sure that your dad would want me to come pick out your puppy.”

Monty smirks. “You don’t know that,” he says.

Mr. Rogers is, admittedly, a little fearful of what Monty meant by that.

**…**

Monty, of course, is thinking about his daddy, and how Aunt Nat said that he had been, “Single for too long.” She said she knows someone blond, and daddy said that he doesn’t always like blondes, but Monty is pretty sure that he’d like Mr. Rogers, because he’s _better_ than blond. He’s got gold hair.

That night at dinner, Monty asks, “When is the next teacher conference?”

Daddy looks up from his plate of spaghetti and says, “I think next week. Why? Did you do something?”

Monty shakes his head. “No,” he says. He eats some spaghetti, then asks, “Are you gonna meet my art teacher?”

“I don’t know,” daddy says.

“I think you’d like him,” Monty says.

“Do you like him? I remember Miss Hill said that he’s new.”

“I really like him,” Monty says. “I draw puppies. He says mine looked like a wiener dog.”

Daddy smiles. “Were you trying to draw a wiener dog?” he asks. Monty shakes his head, because daddy knows when he’s trying to lie. Daddy laughs, and Monty smiles, too.

**…**

Turns out, the next PTA meeting is only two weeks later.

Bucky doesn’t always make it to PTA meetings. He’s a single dad with a full-time job and a surprising lack of babysitters in the area. But he’s able to drop Monty off with Natasha and rush over, and gets there in time to drink some lackluster fruit punch and grab a mealy cookie from the refreshments table.

“I feel like I have to warn you that those cookies may break a tooth.” Bucky sighs — though he still picks up the cookie; he skipped lunch to make it here on time — and looks up at…

What he imagines Prince Charming would look like if he were, y’know, a real person.

“Know from experience?” he asks.

The guy lowers his voice. “Mrs. Peterson made them, the fourth grade teacher? She made some for me on my first day.” He sighs. “It was a tough first day.”

“You teach here?” Bucky asks. The guy nods. “Sorry, I just didn’t recognize you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’ve only been here a month.” He reaches out his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

Bucky shakes it. “Mr. Rogers? As in the art teacher?” Steve nods with a furrowed brow. “God, my kid won’t shut up about you. Says you let him draw dogs all the time.”

A flash of recognition shines in Steve’s eyes. “You must be Mr. Barnes,” he says. Bucky nods.

“Bucky.”

“Great to meet you, Bucky,” Steve responds. He pauses, dropping Bucky’s hand. “So, when are you going to go get Monty that dog?”

Bucky sighs. “When I think he would be able to clean up its poop without giving in to the temptation to throw it at people.”

Steve laughs, a real belly laugh that can’t help but make Bucky smile, too. “I’m not sure I’d ever get over the temptation.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks. “Get frustrated with the kids sometimes?”

“No,” Steve says, suddenly solemn. “But their parents…”

“Poop-worthy?”

“Occasionally,” Steve says.

“Good thing you don’t got a dog, then.” Bucky realizes that he knows that Mr. Rogers doesn’t have a dog because Monty told him after school one day. The same day he told Bucky that he should bring Mr. Rogers with them to pick out a dog. He thinks, for a second, that Monty was trying to say something that an eight year-old shouldn’t really be talking about.

“Don’t have a boyfriend, either,” Steve says, looking down at the plate of cookies. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna go on dates.”

“I’m not sure that makes any sense,” Bucky says, but a smile is threatening break through.

“I’m an art teacher, not English,” Steve says.

“Wanna get a drink after this?” Bucky asks, then adds, “If that’s ethical?”

“You’re not leaving Monty home alone, right?”

“‘Course not,” Bucky says.

“Then yeah. I think it would be okay.”

**…**

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks, looking down at Monty with a serious expression. “You know how much of a responsibility this is, right?”

“Dad,” Monty says. “I’m ten.”

“A convincing argument,” Bucky says, unimpressed.

“You brought Mr. Rogers home!”

Bucky sputters. Behind him, Steve sniggers. “That is _not_ the same thing,” Bucky says. “I _married_ Steve. You can’t marry a dog.”

Monty looks unconvinced. “I’ll take good care of her dad. Pinky swear.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s fill out the paperwork.”

Twenty minutes later, Steve, Bucky, Monty, and their greyhound Lola are in the car together, Steve singing _Hey Jude_ off-key, Lola licking Monty’s face, and Bucky feeling fuller than he’s ever felt before.


	64. Good Dads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "kidfic prompt: Bucky and Steve are neighbors who can't stand each other, but their kids (Natasha and Clint) are best friends so they put up with each other" - Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mention of cancer and death.

“Steven.”

“James.”

Bucky huffs. Steve is well aware that Bucky prefers to be called Bucky. He calls him James nonetheless.

“I’m here to pick up Natasha,” Bucky says.

“Really?” Steve responds. “Thought you were here for the water polo tournament.”

“You really wanna see me in a Speedo, don’t you?” Bucky asks, and Steve gets a little red.

It’s not like he doesn’t know that Bucky is attractive. Hell, he had a few… _thoughts_ about Bucky when he and Natasha moved into the neighborhood. That was before Natasha and Clint’s first playdate. Now that he knows Bucky is awful, and can only think about how such an ass is wasted on… such an ass.

Trying to calm his blush down, he turns behind him. “Natasha, your dad is here!” he calls.

There’s a pause, then the sound of Natasha and Clint’s scurrying footsteps coming down the staircase. They’re giggling as they knock into the back of Steve’s calves. Steve rolls his eyes fondly and reaches down to muffles Clint’s hair.

“Daddy,” Clint says. “Natasha should stay for dinner, and then we should go see _King Fu Panda_ please dad, _please_.”

“Does Natasha want to stay for the movie?” Steve asks. Natasha nods, holding Clint’s grubby hand in hers. Steve looks over at Bucky. “I can take them, if that wouldn’t be a—“

“Daddy should come, too!” Natasha says, dropping Clint’s hand and running to her dad, wrapping her arms around one of his legs. “You do karate,” she says, looking up at her dad. “And you look like a panda.”

“I do not,” Bucky says, faking affront.

With his scruffy hair and bags beneath his eyes, Bucky does sort of look like a panda, Steve thinks. A panda with a great ass — maybe from doing karate?

“I can take ‘em,” Bucky says.

“But we were gonna have pizza!” Clint cries from next to Steve.

“Yeah,” Natasha says. “We have pizza here, then we _all_ go to the movie.”

Oh great. An evening with Bucky. That was exactly Steve wanted.

But then Bucky raises an eyebrow, like he’s just waiting for Steve to say no.

“Fine,” Steve says. “C’mon in, Bucky.”

Bucky shoots him a little, amused smile. “Alright.”

Natasha giggles and Clint starts running around the foyer, whooping with excitement.

It’s gonna be a long night.

**…**

“Yeah, tell Molly I’ll have it in tomorrow… I’m seein’ a movie with my kid…” Bucky laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow, I promise… _Kung Fu Panda_.” He laughs again. “She’s my daughter and I love her and I’d sit through three _Kung Fu Pandas_ for her.” He hums. “Alright, yeah, talk to ya later.”

Steve glances over as Bucky hangs up, about to say something when he’s got the phone back up to his ear again. “Ay, Ricky, it’s Bucky… Yeah… No, actually the place next door, it’s 508.” Steve wonders why the _hell_ Bucky is giving out his address, then Bucky says, “Yeah we’re gonna need a large: half cheese, half pepperoni. Yeah, for Natty and her friend. Then…” He looks at Steve pointedly.

“Oh, uh, veggie.”

“Another large veggie. Toss on two salads with…” He looks at Steve again.

“Italian?”

“The house… Aw Ricky, that’s so sweet. Natty loves the boneless. Y’know what? Can you toss in some root beer? Yeah, that’s right. You got my card on file, right? Yup. Okay. See you in a bit.”

“Did you just order the pizzas?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods, relaxes into Steve’s couch. “Clint likes cheese, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, then clears his throat. “I was gonna do Papa John’s online.”

Bucky looks at him, incredulous, before pushing a strand of loose hair behind his ear. “Ricky’s is two blocks away. Local business. Food is actually _good_.”

“I think I’ve driven by that place a thousand times.”

“Which is why you’re still feedin’ Papa John’s to your child.”

Steve frowns. “Are you saying—“

“I’m joking,” Bucky interrupts. “Jesus Christ, you take everything so seriously.”

“And you don’t take anything.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “What’re you tryin’ to say?” he asks.

“I—“

Steve’s interrupted by Clint, who runs over to Bucky and drops a Hawkeye figurine on his lap. “It’s Hawkeye,” Clint explains. “You haven’t seen him since my birthday party.” Steve remembers the way Clint’s face lit-up when Natasha presented him with her and Bucky’s present, and the grin that spread across his features when he realized it was the _exact_ superhero action figure he’d wanted for ages.

“Good to see he’s doin’ well!” Bucky picks Hawkeye up and poses his bow and arrow. For a second, Steve doesn’t understand what he’s doing, and then a moment later he’s dodging as a small plastic arrow as Clint and Bucky laugh and laugh.

Steve can’t wait for the night to be over.

**…**

Steve will admit that the pizza is great. The deliveryman knew Bucky by name, and gave Steve a stack of coupons, promising that he’ll get a good deal since he’s Bucky’s friend.

It feels a little weird accepting them, because he’s _not_ Bucky’s friend.

But Bucky sure is Clint’s. Clint and Natasha gravitate towards him, crawling on top of him and wanting to play. Steve watches Bucky as he gets down on the floor to give the giggling kids pony rides and dabbing pizza sauce on the tip of Clint’s nose as a joke. He has a naturalness with kids that Steve’s never had. He tries not to be jealous as Bucky sits Natasha on his knee and strokes her hair back with gentle hands.

But it’s hard not to be.

Steve drives them to the theater, because it would be stupid and wasteful to take two cars when they live next door to one another. Bucky hums along with the radio, and encourages the kids to sing with him. He has a scratchy, awful voice, but he’s mugging it up for Clint and Natasha, and it makes Steve smile along with them.

“You should sing, Steve!” Natasha says, stretching towards the front seat.

“Sit back, Natasha,” Bucky says, and she does. Then he looks at Steve. “But you really should sing,” Bucky says, face solemn. “Make a good example for the children.”

“Hey look, there’s the theater!” Steve exclaims, pointing it out in the near-distance. “Who’s ready for Sour Patch?”

There’s a chorus of, “ME ME ME MEs” from the backseat.

“Hope that’s okay,” Steve says to Bucky, quiet.

“As a diversion tactic? No. As for candy? Guess you’re buyin’.” Bucky smirks, and Steve smiles back. Bucky got the pizza. It’s only fair.

**…**

They kill some time watching the kids play around in the arcade, Steve and Bucky keeping watch at an uncomfortable little table in the lobby. “You uh,” Steve begins, playing with the straw of his overpriced Coke. “What do you do for a living?”

“I write shitty spy novels,” Bucky responds, shrugging.

“Spy novels?” Steve asks. Bucky nods, looking away, as if he’s almost embarrassed. “That’s interesting.”

“I know a lot about the Cold War,” Bucky begins. He glances at Steve, and Steve can tell that he’s waiting for a signal that he should continue.

Steve’s curious. He can admit that to himself. “Why’s that?”

“I was three years into a PhD program.” Steve frowns. He hadn’t known or guessed that, even. “Had to fly back from St. Petersburg to grab Nat before Children’s Services did. Scariest flight of my life.”

Steve stares. “What do you mean by that?”

“Uh,” Bucky says, reaching up to pull his hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Nat’s parents always intended to give me custody if anythin’ happened. I just assumed nothin’ would happen, so.” He fiddles with the edges of a bag of Sour Patch Kids.

This is news. This is news that Steve had not anticipated. “So Natasha’s not your daughter?”

Bucky looks up in an instant, eyes steely. “Natasha _is_ my daughter. I’ve been her dad since she was six months old.”

“No!” Steve exclaims, a little jumpy. “No, I didn’t mean…” He swallows hard. “I just always thought she was your biological daughter.”

“She’s my sister’s,” Bucky says, looking down again. “Car accident,” he adds, very soft. There may be tears brimming on his eyes, or it may be a trick of the flashing arcade lights.

“Clint’s mom died of cancer,” Steve says. He doesn’t talk about Peggy often, because when he closes his eyes he still sees her wide brown warm eyes looking up at him for the last time on an uncomfortable hospital bed. “Had no idea how I’d raise a kid without her.”

“You’re doin’ pretty well. Clint’s a great kid.”

Steve smiles, looking over at Natasha and Clint, squashed together in one seat of a racing game. “I like him alright.”

And then something startling happens: Bucky laughs.

**…**

Steve unbuckles Clint and pulls him out of the car. Both he and Natasha fell asleep in the backseat, tired from their long, fun day. Bucky grabs his kid, and he and Steve look at each other, each with a sleepy kid in their arms. “This was fun,” Bucky says, adjusting Natasha so he’s got a better grip on her.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, locking up his car.

“You should come over sometime. We can set the kids up with a movie and have a beer.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“It’d be nice to have a real talk,” Bucky says. “Think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Alright,” Steve says. “Whenever.”

“Night,” Bucky says.

“Night,” Steve parrots back.

And before their respective parents turn around, both Natasha and Clint open their eyes, giving each other a huge smile. Their plan worked.


	65. I'll Fight Everybody In This Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bucky gets very cuddly and sleepy when drunk. Steve gets either very "fight me" or very "I LOVE EVERYONE IN THIS BAR" when drunk (sometimes both, in turns). That's it that's the prompt" - softbrobucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I wrote this (and the next few chapters) drunk. They're not great.

Bucky just wants Steve to love him.

They’re sitting in a bar with their friends all around them and Steve keeps annoucning, “DUM DUM I LOVE YOU” and “NATASHA I LOVE YOU” and he was kissing Clint _on the lips_  but then there’s Bucky. Who sits sadly drinking white wine like the loser he is, becoming sad because there’s no one he wants to hook up with in this bar besides Steve, and Steve seems happy to love EVERYBODY BUT BUCKY.

“Steve,” Bucky tries to say to Steve, but Steve is busy hitting on, like, four different people at once, cheeks all flushed and lips all red because he was drinking a strawberry daquiri. Bucky wants to taste the sweetness of the drink on Steve’s lips, wanna get intoxicated from Steve, wants to–

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

“Yeah?” Bucky responds, feeling defensive.

“You said my name,” Steve says slow, like Bucky is dumb or something.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I did.”

“What’d you want?” Steve asks.

“You,” Bucky says

Steve slides down onto the chair next to Bucky. “You don’t seem to be having a good time.”

“Everyone here is shitty,” Bucky says.

“It’s all of our friends,” Steve says.

Bucky takes the opportunity to drape himself on Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders and tossing a leg around Steve’s closest one. “Just wanna be with you,” Bucky says.

“You wanna go home?” Steve asks. 

“Only if you do,” Bucky whispers into Steve’s ear.

“Buck–” Steve begins.

“Can’t help myself,” Bucky says, dropping a hand from Steve’s shoulder to his thigh. “Always want you. Want you so much right now.” He inhales and he can smell Steve’s musk.

“Buck,” Steve says again, but this time he’s breathless.

“I’ll follow you anywhere,” Bucky admits.

“Follow me home,” Steve says.

“Alright,” Bucky says. “Yes.

–

They go home, Bucky wrapped up on Steve like an octopus. They’re in the elevator to Steve’s apartment when Bucky starts kissing Steve’s neck. “Buck,” Steve says. 

“You don’t like it?” Bucky asks.

“Jesus, no, Buck, I love it.” Bucky hums, ready to dive back in. “But,” Steve says. “Let’s wait.”

Bucky groans. “Steve c’mon, don’t you–”

“Bucky I’ve wanted to since forever,” Steve says. The elevator dings.

Bucky grins as the doors open. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go inside.”

They stumble into STeve’s apartment. Bucky’s already fiddling with the buttons on his shirt when Steve grabs his hand. “Buck,” he says.

“Lemme,” Bucky says, surging forward, wanting to be close.

But Steve backs awya. Stupid Steve. “Bucky, we’re both drunk.” Bucky nods ecause, duh. “Let’s wait ‘till tomorrow.”

“But-” Bucky starts.

“I gotta know it’s real,” Steve says, pulling a gentle hand through Bucky’s hair. “Gotta know it’s real,” he repeats before laying a gentle kiss on Bucky’s forehead.

Bucky take a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright,” he says. “But…” he trails off, nudging his head into Steve’s chest.

“But?” Steve asks.

“Can we snuggle?” he asks.

Steve steps away, puts a finger under Bucky’s chin and pulls his head up to look at him. “Of course we can.”

–

They wake up snuggled together on the couch, TV still flickering.

Steve is up first, and just lets himself be hungover and happy beneath Bucky. And when Bucky wakes up he asks, “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Still want me?”

“Always.”

And they kiss.


	66. Baby Dady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "drunk prompt: absolutely shitfaced bucky needing skinny!steve to take care of him on the night steve also had to take care of his baby cousin and then bucky wakes up the next morning, still shitfaced, thinking he somehow knocked up steve (lolomg idek i'm so sorry)" - Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter drunk and I am mildly ashamed of it.

Steve pushes Bucky up the stairs. “Bucky, Buck, c’mon,” Steve says as Bucky keeps trying to kiss him and not, y’know, walk up the stairs.

“Stevie, baby,” Bucky says. “Stevie kiss me.”

“When we get upstairs,” Steve promises.

Bucky hums. “How’d I know it isn’t an act? How’d I know that you’re not gonna–”

“Get up the stairs Barnes, or I’m never gonna kiss you again.”

Bucky turns back, affronted. “You would _never_.”

“Try me,” Steve says, deadpan.

Bucky rushes up the stairs, almost tripping twice.

They make it to the apartment and Bucky is all over him. He’s sloppily kissing his neck and cheeks, lifting Steve up and trying to reenact Dirty Dancing or something, which Steve ends quickly because while he loves Bucky and typically has faith in his strength, he’s not so sure it’s a good idea when Bucky’s drunk as a skunk.

Also, there’s the baby.

“Bucky,” Steve says. “Bucky please.”

And Bucky is a gentleman, so he stops. But he’s also pouting, so Steve adds. “You’ll wake the baby.”

Bucky’s eyes grow wide. “Baby?” he asks.

Steve nods, because yeah. They’re babysitting Bucky’s sister’s kid. Duh.

“Oh my God,” Bucky says, solemn. “Where?”

“Uh, the crib’s over there,” Steve says, pointing to the side of the room where the crib is. 

Bucky moves over there as quietly as he can. He hovers over the crib for a few moments before reaching down and patting the baby’s head once, carefully. He then turns back and walks over towards Steve again, hangdog. 

“Steve,” he says. “I can’t be a father.”

“Well–” Steve starts, but Bucky interrupts.

“I don’t… I hadn’t remembered. Steve,” Bucky says. He drops to his knees and rests his head against Steve’s stomach. “Steve, I didn’t mean to.” He starts stroking Steve’s stomach, which okay. That’s so weird. “Steve, I can’t be a father,” Bucky repeats, and Steve realizes that he’s _crying_.

“Bucky, no, you’re not–”

“I can’t remember you being pregnant,” Bucky says. He looks up, face tear-streaked. “I don’t remember _marrying_  you. You must have been so beautiful with a huge stomach, our baby inside.”

“First,” Steve says. “Why would _I_  be the pregnant one?”

“You’re my beautiful husband,” Bucky says, openly weeping against Steve’s stomach. “And our baby is so beautiful.”

Steve realizes that maybe he could milk this. Just not from his breasts. Which he doesn’t have because he wasn’t actually pregnant. “Bucky, baby, please stand up.”

“No,” Bucky says. He wraps his arms around Steve’s waist. “You’re just so beautiful.”

Steve laughs. “I’m so tired Bucky. Can’t you come to bed? I don’t wanna sleep unless you’re in bed with me.” That makes Bucky look up, so Steve adds, “It’s been so hard, taking care of our baby tonight.”

Bucky weeps a little harder, and for a hot sec Steve is worried that he really will wake the baby. But little Millie seems to be alright, so Steve puts a hand in Bucky’s hair and says, “C’mon baby, let’s go to bed.” 

Bucky nods against Steve’s stomach. “Alright,” he says. “Alright.”

It’s a little weird having Bucky pet his stomach the rest of the night, but it’s worth it when Bucky curls up close, wraps himself around Steve and promises that he’s never ever gonna let go.

–

In the morning Bucky looks at Steve confused.

“We don’t have a baby, do we?” he asks.

“Congratulations daddy,” Steve says. Bucky’s eyes go wide and Steve can’t help but laugh and laugh.

–

“You’d make a good daddy,” Bucky says, later, after they’ve returned Millie back to Bucky’s sister. 

Steve shrugs. “Wouldn’t wanna get knocked-up outta wedlock,” he says, mostly sarcastic.

“In wedlock?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs. “Maybe then.”

Bucky hums and gets down on one knee. Steve’s eyes go wide as Bucky reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring. “Babies or not, I still think getting married would rock,” Bucky says.

“Worst proposal ever,” Steve responds.

“But your answer?” Bucky prompts, looking wide-eyed and nervous and beautiful as always.

“Of course,” Steve says. Grinning, Bucky jumps up and wraps his arms around Steve. “Of course.”


	67. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I was thinking, since I’m cliche, Steve and Bucky celebrating their birthdays on the same day? Cause they both feel disconnected to their real birthdays in the new world, so they make their own. And it´s the same day cause they’re saps in love XD" - misspaperjoker (since we share the same birthday!!)

“Well boys, what brings you here today?” says their buxom waitress with bouncy red curls. She’s middle-aged and perky, and Bucky smirks at the way she’s eyeing Steve up and down.

“Tell ‘er Steve,” Bucky says, touching Steve’s foot with his own underneath the table.

“It’s our birthday,” Steve says, then tacks on, “Ma’am.”

“Now, now, your _birthday_? Both of ya?” Bucky hums in agreement, smirking and looking over at Steve. He taps Steve’s foot underneath the table and Steve gives both him and Debbie, their waitress, a shy smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Both of us.”

Something warm and bubbly rises in Bucky’s chest and he bites down on the dopey grin that’s threatening to show up on his sappy face.

“Well, it sounds like you boys’re gonna need a big slab of cake after you eat!”

“Too true,” Bucky says.

“What can I get ya in the meantime?” Debbie asks.

“Um,” Steve starts, looking at the plastic menu. “Can we start with two of the sampler platters with an extra plate of wings? Then I’ll have the cheese burger with fries, a side salad with the honey dijon dressing, a side of the green beans and a side of fries.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Oh!” He exclaims, then his cheeks flush. “And I strawberry shake.”

Debbie’s eyes are bugging out a little as she repeats Steve’s order back to him. “Sound good?” she asks.

“Perfect,” Steve says. “Thank you Debbie.”

She swallows, then turns to Bucky. “And what’ll you have, darlin’?”

“Hmm… Just gimme the same as Steve’s gettin’, but making the salad dressin’ Thousand Island and the shake chocolate.”

“Well, you made that one easy!” Debbie exclaims. Bucky laughs. “I know you’ve already ordered half the menu, but can I get you anythin’ else?”

“Some Cokes,” Steve says, hunching up a little. “Please.”

“Sure thing sugar,” Debbie says, writing a little more on her notepad. “I’ll get those Cokes and shakes right out to you boys.”

“Thanks very much,” Bucky responds, handing her his plastic menu. She takes Steve’s and heads towards the kitchen.

Steve sighs and slumps in the vinyl booth of this tiny diner in southern Minnesota, just off of I-90. “I hope we see some buffalo,” Steve says.

“I heard they have too many buffalo,” Bucky responds. “I bet we’ll see at least one.”

“Y’never know Buck,” Steve says. “The guidebook says that you can’t _expect_ to see any specific kind of wildlife. Just hike in certain areas at certain times of the year.”

“And I’m sure you’ll get tired after a mile of hiking.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I’m happy we’re doing this,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to see Yellowstone.”

“Don’t forget the Grand Canyon,” Bucky adds. “And then Vegas!”

Steve laughs. “Of course. Can’t forget Vegas.”

“Two old geezers goin’ to see some geysers.”

“You old coot,” Steve says.

“Gimme a break, it’s my birthday,” Bucky says.

They chose March 20th. It’s the beginning of spring, the end of winter. And a start to their new life together.

“Happy birthday Bucky,” Steve says.

“Same to you.”

—

They get their food and, true to her word, Debbie gives them each a huge slab of chocolate cake with ice cream, “On the house,” she says with a wink. Then adds, “Thank you for your service, and a very happy birthday to you both,” which makes Steve smile.

It was supposed to take another fifteen hours of driving, but with Steve at the wheel they shave two of those off.

At sunrise they watch Old Faithful erupt, arms around each other as they greeted the next year of their lives together.


	68. Chilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "My friend dragged me to this party and I just saw my ex quick make out with me" - Anon

Steve is not competitive with Tony.

Steve will say it over and over again: he is _not_ competitive with Tony.

So when he sees Tony — Tony, who took him on a yacht and told him he loved him while drinking champagne and watching the sunset over the water — making out with some dude, he’s totally chill. Not competitive at all. Completely okay with the fact that Tony personally reached out to invite Steve and Sam to this party so that they could all become friends again.

And Steve was hopeful until he walked in and saw Tony making out with some dude.

“Steve,” Sam says. “Be chill.”

“I’m always chill,” Steve responds. “I’m the chillest. I’m practically on _ice_.”

“Sure you are, but—“

“Who’s the hottest guy in the room?”

“Steve—“ Sam starts in a warning voice.

“It’s the brunette with the man bun, right? God, I hate man buns. But it’s him?” he asks, pointing to the guy. He is also, somewhat fortuitously, standing very near Tony and the dude he’s making out with, but that’s neither here nor there.

“If you’re into that?” Sam starts, then sighs. “There’s no way I can talk you out of this, is there?”

“Let’s go do some shots,” Steve says, grabbing Sam’s arm. “Then I’m gonna go make out with that guy.”

Sam sighs, but follows. Steve is a mess, but at least he’s fun.

**…**

Five minutes later, Steve is beginning to feel pleasantly buzzed after two shots of whipped cream vodka and approaches the man bun in his natural habitat. He’s talking to a fierce-looking redhead, and Tony is still making out with that dude about two feet away.

“Hey,” Steve says as he approaches, squaring his chest and remembering that he’s generally thought of as an attractive dude, and approaching another attractive dude shouldn’t be this hard.

“Hey?” the guy asks, looking at Steve a little questionably.

He’s holding a red solo cup and he’s wearing a leather jacket and Steve is making a terrible mistake, but he can’t stop from babbling, “So my ex is over there making out with some guy and you’re the hottest guy in the room and  it would really piss him off if he saw us, and it’s not like I wouldn’t enjoy it, so.”

The guy raises his eyebrows. “So you wanna make-out?” he asks. Steve nods. “Is this a good vantage point? Will your ex see us?” The girl the guy is with rolls her eyes, pats his arm and walks away.

“You’re really okay with this?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, well,” the guy responds. “If I’m the hottest guy in the room, then you’re a close second. No skin offa my back.”

Steve ducks his head, hoping that the blush is from the booze and not the compliment. “Wow, I’m…” He trails off. “Could we move about ten feet to my left?”

Hot guy nods and they shuffle over. “Okay, good? Wanna switch positions or somethin’?”

“No, this should be…” Steve clears his throat. “Thanks,” he says.

“No problem,” hot guy says. He takes a step into Steve’s space, rests a hand on the side of Steve’s face, and leans in.

Hot guy is a good kisser. A _really_ good kisser. So good a kisser that when Tony taps Steve’s shoulder. Steve jumps, and hot guy laughs into his mouth, warm and intimate.

Steve realizes, distantly, that he’s hard.

“Steve?” Tony asks.

“Yeah?” Steve says, dazed. Hot guy’s hand is in his back pocket.

“Glad to see you… came,” Tony says, giving hot guy a look.

“Not yet,” hot guy says. “But the night is still young.”

Steve laughs, and hot guy gives his ass a little squeeze.

“Steve,” Tony says. “If you can drag yourself away, can we have a little chitchat?”

“Um,” Steve says, glancing at hot guy. He’s not looking at Steve and seems… Almost disappointed. “I think I’m okay here.” Hot guy perks back up. Steve can’t help but perk up, too.

“Fine,” Tony says, “ _Fine_. Whatever. See if I care. Text me tomorrow with your exploits, you saucy boy.” He leans over to hot guy and stage whispers, “He’s a _cuddler_.” Hot guy just laughs.

“Not a problem with me,” he says, looking Steve up and down as Tony rolls his eyes and walks away. “I’m Bucky, by the way,” he adds.

“Steve.”

“Wanna go to my place and… cuddle?” he asks.

Steve nods. “I really do.”

**…**

**Four Hours Later**

**…**

Bucky plops back down on the couch next to Steve, dropping the pizza box on the table in front of them. He snuggles into Steve’s chest, and Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Turn it back on,” Bucky says. Steve laughs and presses play on their on demand episode of _Too Cute!_

It’s funny how things work out.


	69. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "We’re on the bus and I’m really not trying to take up your space I’m sorry I just have rlly rlly long legs.” - softbrobucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually decided that I'm going to expand this prompt for my Big Bang (coming this August!) so keep an eye out for more! This is a Cap!Steve Modern!Bucky AU.

 

“Hi,” says the gorgeous tall man who just got on the bus. “Mind if I?” he asks, gesturing to the empty window seat next to Bucky.

“Here, lemme,” Bucky says, scooting over to let the guy on the aisle.

“Thanks,” he says. “Full bus.”

Bucky hums in agreement and goes back to his paperback. He’d usually at least try to make some smalltalk, but given the hairstyle and khakis, Bucky isn’t sure that this guy won’t try to convert him to some apocalyptical sect of Christianity. Either way, he oozes Iowa-born heterosexuality.

A few minutes pass, Bucky feeling increasingly uncomfortable. The reason? The fidgeting. The guy next to him keeps moving around, sighing, and slowly inching into Bucky’s space. Bucky took Intro to Gender Studies; he knows about Manspreading. And while most dudes seem to be pretty oblivious to their body, this guy seems like a baby gazelle, completely unsure of where his legs are, or what they’re doing. He’s wiggling around in a way that doesn’t make Bucky angry, just a little concerned. It isn’t until the guy’s thigh is pressed up against Bucky’s that Bucky clears his throat.

And then he clears his throat again, this time a little louder.

The guy just sighs again, looking sadly at the back of the seat in front of him. He’s not even on a phone or anything, just doing nothing besides looking sad and uncomfortable.

“Hey, uh,” Bucky says. The guy nearly jumps out of his skin, leg moving in the process, making Bucky sort of unsure how to continue.

“Everything alright?” the guy asks, looking… Actually _concerned_. He’s looking at Bucky with these sad baby blues, sort of intense, but uniquely sweet.

“Oh, your leg was just, uh, touchin’ mine? ‘Is not a big deal, but.”

He looks like he’s going to _cry_. “I’m sorry,” he says, actually apologetic. He looks down at his legs, confused, like they’ve personally insulted him. “Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of…” He clears his throat, looking back up. “I noticed your book,” he says, glancing down at the paperback Bucky’s holding. “ _Torment_? I read _Better Angel_ a while back. Is that another book by Forman Brown?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, they republished _Better Angel_ under this name in the fifties. I like _Better Angel_ better, though. Emphasizes the fact that this is, like, the first not-tragic gay love story.”

The guy chuckles, low. He glances back down, and Bucky notices how long his eyelashes are. He’s just got really gorgeous eyes, and Bucky is not afraid to say so. In his head. Not out loud.

“I don’t think I’ve seen somebody reading _Better Angel_ since…” He pauses, eyes widening a little before he clears his throat. “In a while,” he ends. “Where’d you hear about it?”

“I’m in a Queer Literature of the Twentieth Century class at NYU.”

The guy’s eyes seem to bug out of his head. “That’s a class?” he asks.

Feeling suddenly defensive, Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Completely full this semester.”

“That’s…” The guy trails off, huffs a breath. “That’s _amazing_ ,” he says, quietly, looking down. “Completely amazing.”

“It’s uh, a great class,” Bucky says slowly, a little confused about why this guy seems so emotional about a 200-level English course.

“Would they let someone who isn’t a student take it?” he asks.

“Honestly? I dunno. They let James Franco take a film class, so there’s a chance.”

“James…?” he starts.

“Mediocre actor. He was in the _Spider-Man_ movies?”

The guy smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, I know I sound a little strange.”

Bucky shrugs. “I go to NYU; I’ve seen stranger.” He pauses. “Are you from around here?” he asks.

“That’s a seventy year-long story.” Bucky raises his eyebrows. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”

Bucky nods. “Guessed that from the khakis.”

“There’s something wrong with them?” the guy asks, looking down at his pants.

“Nothin’ _wrong_ , but it’s probably been a while since anybody’s worn khakis in Williamsburg without tryin’ to be ironic.”

“Oh!” he says, almost excited. “Hipsters, right?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, hipsters.”

“Different than it used to be.”

Bucky snorts. “You sound like my bubbe.”

“She lived in Williamsburg?”

“Flatbush. Her ma was Polish and dad was Irish. Seemed like a nice compromise.”

The guy laughs. “I remember,” he starts, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

They fall into an awkward silence. Bucky doesn’t start reading again; he doesn’t have enough time left before his stop to get back into it. Instead he unzips his backpack and slips the book inside.

“Sorry,” the guy says, and Bucky looks up. “For interrupting you.”

“No big deal,” Bucky says. The guy smiles — again, it’s a little sad, and doesn’t quite reach his eyes — and turns back to the front. He looks so weird and lonely and nerdy that Bucky girds his loins and asks, “Hey, do you know anybody ‘round here?”

“Huh?” the guy asks, turning to look at Bucky.

Bucky, in turn, glances away. “Dunno. You said you were newish in town.”

“Oh, I don’t. Not really. A few people, but they’re mostly work friends.” He pauses, then adds, “Associates.”

“Would you wanna hang sometime? We can talk queer literature of the twentieth century, if you wanna live vicariously.”

The way that the guy lights up is almost _obscene_. He was already tall, but he looks like he grew a foot in about four seconds. His wide eyes sparkle, and his hopeful smile is small, but looks _happy_. Happier than he’s been this entire conversation. “Yeah?” he asks quiet, but excited. “That’d be just great.”

Bucky smiles, reaches into his backpack and pulls out a piece of scrap paper and a pen. (He’s not too organized, but it works out during moments like these.) He jots down his name and phone number and hands them over. “Text or call or whatever.”

The guy reads the little scrap like he’s really _reading_ it, like it’s something more than a number scribbled on a piece of paper. “Bucky?” he asks, looking up.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s dorky, it’s weird, it’s—“

“Great,” he interrupts. “It’s a swell name.” Bucky might blush a little. Just a little. “I’m Steve.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Bucky says. “But I gotta scoot. Stop’s comin’ up.”

“Sure,” Steve says, standing up and letting Bucky slide by. Bucky turns around to see Steve looking at him, that same happy look on his face, his phone number clutched in his hand. “I’ll text you,” he says.

“You better,” Bucky responds. “Don’t give my number to just anybody.”

Steve looks down, almost bashful. “I’ll be careful with it.”

Bucky wants to say something, but the bus is stopping and he’s gotta get off. “You better,” he says, smiling as he gets off the bus. He looks up after he gets off and sees Steve looking at him. Bucky waves, and Steve waves back a little sheepishly, and Bucky thinks that maybe Steve isn’t a member of an apocalyptic Christian sect. Maybe he’s just an awkward dude who needs a friend.

And maybe, Bucky thinks, he could be that friend.


	70. Wherefore Art Thou Romeo?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Oh my goodness now I want all of those AUs but what about "“i was on my balcony and you started loudly quoting romeo and juliet at me” (In my head Bucky is quoting at Steve, but I'm not picky)" - nocturnalnoelle

Steve is sitting on the balcony of his and Clint’s apartment, feet dangling over the edge. He’s playing solitaire on his phone, drinking occasionally from a bottle of water. Clint is a pretty respectful roommate; he’s a little messy, sure, and Lucky likes to chew up Steve’s pillows, but all in all, he’s a good guy. It’s not like Steve doesn’t have quirks.

So when he came home to Clint’s impromptu party, he wasn’t so concerned. It was a long day at work, sure, but Steve is a bit of an insomniac anyway. AS long as they’re out at a decent hour, Steve doesn’t care too much. So he’s on the balcony with his phone and a book, waiting the party out. It’s a nice night, even if it is a little boring.

Until, suddenly, it’s not.

“Steve?” someone calls from below.

Steve scrambles up with a furrowed brow, wondering which of Clint’s friends forgot their apartment number. But then he smiles, because it’s _Bucky_.

“Steve Rogers, that _is_ you!” Bucky says, looking up and grinning.

Bucky is Clint’s friend from school, a copy-editor for a local publishing company. He and Steve have met a few times; Bucky is one of Clint’s drinking buddies, and they met out socially a few times. But he’s been coming over more recently, just chilling out in the apartment with Clint and Steve by proxy.

Steve also has a huge crush on him.

“Hiya Buck,” Steve says, internally wincing because he sounds like a first grade teacher.

Bucky is standing on the sidewalk beneath the balcony, wearing khaki pants, a burgundy sweater and a sport coat. His hair is slick and styled. He must have come straight from work since he looks so spiffy. Not that he’s not _always_ spiffy, because he is. And Steve is never using the word spiffy again. “This is so romantic,” he calls up to Steve. Their apartment is on the third floor, so it’s not like it’s a long way up, but it’s enough that they have to raise their voices a little to talk to each other.

Steve snorts. “Yeah, just call me Romeo.”

“Juliet’s the one on the balcony. Romeo is the one pining below her.”

“That right? You pining for me, Barnes?”

Bucky clears his throat, and starts reciting: “But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?/It is the east, and Steve Rogers is the sun.” Steve stares with wide eyes. “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,/Who is already sick and pale with grief—“

Steve interrupts, “You know the whole thing?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky says, “But only if you don’t interrupt me.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, laughing. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

“Wrong play, but I’ll let it slide,” Bucky says. He keeps up with the speech, hamming it up and changing the names and pronouns to fit Steve. He finishes, wistful, “O, that I were a glove upon that hand/That I might touch that cheek!”

Steve gives him a round of golf applause. “Very nice. Didn’t know you were an actor.”

“Excuse me,” Bucky says, dripping sarcasm. “You’re looking at the star of an off-beat college acting troupe’s experimental production of _Romeo & Juliet_. The school paper said my performance was — and I quote — “adequate, given the overall mediocrity of the production.”” By this point, Steve can’t keep the dumb smile off his face. That’s been a reoccurring theme around Bucky, lately. “Think we would’ve gotten better reviews if you were my Juliet.”

Steve ducks his head, blushing a little. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna think you’re flirting with me.”

“What if I am?” Bucky asks, then adds, “Flirtin’ with ya.”

“That’d be nice,” Steve says.

Bucky beams. “Hey Juliet, wanna get dinner with me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “I do.”


	71. Grassroots Movements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Please, "I’m really passionate about this cause and I will give you this flier if I have to shove it down your throat" because that's so Steve it hurts"

“How’s your grassroots movement doing, Cap?” Tony asks, slinking up behind Steve. The nickname always makes Steve roll his eyes; he’s bossy, sure, but he’s not about to up and join the military.

“Fine,” Steve says, holding a flier out to a woman passing by. She ignores both the flier and the guy holding it. Steve doesn’t look at Tony, just resolutely looks at the next guy walking up the path. He’s seen him before; Steve thinks they’re in the same seminar this semester? He’s wearing headphones and is resolutely not looking at Steve, but their mild acquaintanceship should be enough to get him to take a flier. And Steve _needs_ to give out a flier.

(Not just because Tony is here. It’s for the _cause_.)

“Excuse me!” Steve says, moving farther onto the path. The guy isn’t looking at him. In fact, he’s looking kind of grim. And dirty. Like he was ridden hard and put away wet. Long messy hair pulled back in a ponytail, green military-style jacket. Those may be Doc Martens, but they’re so taped up that it’s hard to tell. Doesn’t matter; he _will_ take this flier. “Hey, do you care about this school?”

No response, but he kind of glances over for a sec. Progress.

Hearing Tony snicker behind him, Steve gets up right in front of the guy. “Hi!” he says, loudly with a lot of false enthusiasm. “Got a sec?”

Looking almost physically pained, the guy pulls out an earbud. “What?” he asks, more confused than angry, which Steve feels like is a good start.

“Do you care about this school?” Steve asks. The guy shrugs. Okay, maybe not a great sign. “Did you know that there is a student on campus _right now_ facing disciplinary action for standing up against Anti-semitism and racism on this campus? That when the Hydra Chapter White Student Union applied to be a school-recognized organization and he formed a protest, it was _him_ facing the consequences and not the leaders of Hydra?”

The guy sighs. “Really?” he says, all sarcasm. “Please, do tell me more.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Bucky Barnes is a _hero_ and you should be _respectful_.”

The guy raises his eyebrows. “Hero?”

Steve nods, resolute. “Of course.”

“You know him? Personally?”

Steve falters for just a moment, then squares his jaw. He can hear Tony laughing his ass off, and this is ridiculous. “Sure I do,” Steve says.

“Huh,” the guy responds. “So what’s he look like?”

“He’s, um,” he swallows hard. “He’s got red hair.”

“Lemme…” the guy says, pulling out his phone. He taps a few times, types a little, then holds it up to Steve. On it is a picture of the guy with the headline, “Shield University Student James Buchanan Barnes Facing Disciplinary Action for Stopping Hydra Rally.”

Steve glances down at the picture. Then back up to the guy. Then back down. And back up.

Tony sounds like he’s barely breathing he’s laughing so hard.

“I had midterms,” Steve admits, feeling red as a lobster and almost light-headed. “I didn’t actually go.”

And miracle of miracles, the guy cracks a smile.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says. “Just nice somebody gives a shit.” He clears his throat. “But, uh, you may wanna fix these fliers. It wasn’t just me — there’s Gabe, Jim, Monty, Dernier, Dum Dum… I ain’t the only one. Gabe’s the one who actually organized the thing. I just jumped up on stage.” He pauses. “I can help with that, if you want.”

“Really?” Steve asks.

The guy shrugs. “I’m suspended, so, y’know, I’ve got time.”

They exchange numbers and a promise to meet in a couple hours. As Bucky’s walking away, Tony slides up next to Steve, looking grim. “You fuck up and you still manage to get a date. This is ridiculous — ridiculous!”

But Steve isn’t really listening, just watching Bucky as he walks away.


	72. The Dungeon Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "That is the tenth demon summoning this week holy shit." - s-leary

“No,” Steve says. “ _No_.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re, like, the most close-minded DM I have _ever_ played with.”

“But that is the tenth demon summoning _this week_ , Bucky.”

Bucky looks over to Clint with this eye roll, like ‘get a load of this asshole.’ Which is totally ridiculous because _Bucky_ is the one who invited himself into their game, and _Bucky_ is the one who keeps getting the whole group into stupid situations and then summoning demons to try to get them out of it. Which never works. Because he can’t _control_ the demons he summons, and then everything gets even more fucked-up.

“You’re a _paladin_ ,” Steve says, exasperated. “I don’t know why you’d summon a demon in the first place.”

“I told you that I’m a paladin who was brainwashed by the Hydra Syndicate, and so all he would _know_ is how to summon demons!”

“That doesn’t even make _sense_ ,” Steve says, voice rising. “This is such bullshit!”

“You’re just a control freak who can’t adapt when somethin’ changes!”

Steve slams a hand down on the table, and dice shake all around him. “Steve—“ Sam starts, but Natasha interrupts.

“We’re locking you in the dungeon,” Natasha says, steely eyed. “Starting now.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“C’mon everyone, we’re going upstairs and ordering a pizza.” Clint shrugs as Sharon and Peggy look at one another. Natasha turns to Bucky, then Steve, glaring at each in turn. “You will stay in this basement and talk, and you will work your shit out, and you will only get pizza when you’re ready to get along and be serious.” Before he can start arguing, Natasha grabs Sam’s arm and drags him up. “So let’s get going.”

“What the hell?” Bucky asks, betrayal obvious in his features. “Clint?” he asks.

“Sorry man,” Clint says. “I follow the pizza.”

The group trudges out, leaving Steve and Bucky behind.

“We could batter the door down,” Steve suggests.

Bucky huffs. “Natasha probably dragged her dad’s easy chair in front of it.”

“How do you know?” Steve challenges, feeling petty and stupid, but Bucky came and _ruined_ what was supposed to be a really fun Saturday night with his friends.

“I _know_ because I _know_ Natasha, and this isn’t the first time she’s locked me in the basement.”

Steve perks up a little at that, confused and — while he doesn’t want to admit it — interested. “When?” he asks. “When we were kids,” Bucky says. “We’ve been friends since we were born, practically.”

Steve purses his lips. “I didn’t know that.”

“You would’ve if you actually listened to somebody else once in a while,” he says. “She told everybody the first time I came to play.”

Steve remembers that night. It was just after Bucky moved to town — or moved back, maybe, if he and Natasha knew each other before he started at Shield High School. Steve had been irritated because the addition was sprung on him; he wasn’t prepared for it. So he’d spent most of dinner making new plans for the game instead of… instead of listening to Natasha introduce Bucky.

He did remember Bucky looking shy. Steve had just assumed it was because he was ashamed of inviting himself to a game that was supposed to be for Steve and his friends.

“Oh,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, shrugging. “It’s whatever.”

“Wait, so you knew Natasha when you were kids?” Bucky nods. “So you lived here before?” Bucky nods again. “Then why are you back?”

Bucky looks down at the table. “Parents got divorced,” he mumbles. “Mom wanted to get away from my creepy uncle Alex.”

Not really wanting to dive into who creepy uncle Alex is, Steve says, “I thought you were new.”

“Because you don’t listen,” Bucky spits back.

“Well,” Steve starts, heckles rising again. “Sorry for trying to run this thing all by myself! It takes a lot more work then you’d think it would.”

“Because you’re so controllin’,” Bucky says. “My last DM just winged it, and yeah, sometimes were kinda shitty, but we always had fun!”

“It’s the one thing I _can_ control,” Steve finds himself yelling. He immediately shuts his mouth, cheeks going red.

“Sure,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “So your mom sets your curfew. Doesn’t mean you have to be a dick here.”

“No!” Steve says, bristling. “First, leave my ma out of this. She’s _amazing_ , and…” Steve takes a breath, trying to ignore the fact that he’s going to tell Bucky, a guy he resolutely doesn’t like, things that he’s never even told Sam. “And I have all these health problems, okay? I’m in the hospital all the time, and when I’m not there because my heart isn’t working right or my diabetes acts up, it’s because some asshole broke my wrist from slamming me in a locker. So maybe I’m pushy, and maybe I want things to go my way, but this is the only place where I get to choose anything that happens.” He’s a little breathless by the end, and he looks away from Bucky. He’ll probably make fun of him. Whatever. Maybe that would get him to go away.

But Bucky is quiet for long enough that Steve sneaks a glance. He’s not laughing. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, you never asked,” Steve says, snottiness coming back into his own voice as the voice in the back of his head tells him that he should apologize to Bucky, too.

No way.

“Because you never wanted me to talk to you!” Bucky says, voice rising again.

“Because _you’re_ kind of an asshole!”

“So are you!”

“Am not!”

“Yeah, you are!”

“Shut up!”

“No, you shut up!”

“No, _you_!”

“No—“ Bucky starts, but can’t finish.

Because he’s laughing. Big belly laughs with tears in his eyes as he tries to stutter out some unintelligible retort.

“Why’re you laughing?” Steve asks, brows furrowed.

It takes Bucky a few more breaths to get himself under control. “Sorry, but like, that was _ridiculous_.”

“I wasn’t—“

“No, no! I’m not insultin’ you. Just, we kind of wind each other up.”

“Better than getting each other off,” Steve says, then clamps his mouth shut. His face gets very, _very_ red. He was never, _ever_ supposed to admit to himself that Bucky has very nice arms and very pretty eyelashes, let alone admit it to _Bucky_. He risks a glance over, seeing if maybe Bucky didn’t catch that. But from the way that he’s blushing, he must’ve.

“That wouldn’t, uh,” Bucky starts, and Steve braces himself for the worst insult yet. “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing?”

“What?” Steve asks. Bucky looks down, “Jesus, don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” Steve asks, genuinely confused.

“C’mon Steve. You’re all cute and shit, and we bicker, and I uh…”

“You _like_ me?” Steve asks, even more genuinely confused. Somewhat aghast, in fact. He’s not sure _anyone_ has ever admitted to liking him before. Hell, he’s pretty sure no one has ever even liked him before!

Bucky’s face goes even redder. “No! Well, um, yeah, but like, it’s not… you know, it’s just little, tiny, really small.”

“Like your dick?” Steve asks, unable to help himself.

Bucky looks up. “My dick is _huge_ ,” he says. “Practically _giant_.”

Steve snorts. “Prove it,” he says.

Still red-faced, Bucky stands up, drops his pants, and stands smug.

And that’s how Steve Rogers gave his first blowjob, got his first boyfriend, and made Natasha order him a gluten-free pizza all to himself on the same night.

**…**

**Five Months Later**

**…**

“Okay,” Peggy says. “Someone has to say something, and since none of you will, I guess I have to be the one.”

“What?” Steve asks, glancing to Bucky. Bucky shrugs.

“He needs to stop summoning demons,” she says. “Bucky, demons can’t get you out of every problem!”

“Well,” Bucky says, smugness in his voice. “Maybe we should ask the DM.” He turns to Steve. “Oh great and powerful dungeon master, should I stop summoning demons?”

Steve shrugs. “Fine by me,” he says.

He’s already planned everything out.

**…**

**Five Months and Twenty Minutes Later**

**…**

And that’s how Sam became the new dungeon master.


	73. Moleskine II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "POV for the writing meme!" - Anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to 'In Case of Loss, Please Return," which is Chapter 35 of mambo writes...

The doorbell rings, startling Steve, nearly making him mess up his current sketch. Commando starts barking, and Steve slams his sketchbook closed and heads to the door. He’s not expecting anyone, and if Natasha sent him another special delivery dildo, he’s going to take that dildo and shove it down her–

Steve opens the door to a man he’s never seen before. He’s pale-looking, eyes wide and cheeks stubbly. His windbreaker seems to almost engulf him, like maybe he’s trying to hide something. Normally, if someone like this showed up on Steve’s doorstep he’d be a little worried about himself. But honestly? He’s just sort of worried about whoever this is.

“Hello?” Steve asks.

“I have your sketchbook,” he says. Steve resists the urge to raise a confused eyebrow. “I’ve, uh, had it for a while. But I was, um, in Iraq.” He’s not looking directly at Steve, and he’s talking fast, nervously. “I wanted to, uh… Things weren’t so… I looked at it a lot,” he admits.

Things are happening quickly, and Steve needs to understand what’s going on. “Wait, what?” he asks.

“Sorry, I’m not…” The guy winces and Steve’s heart breaks a little. This seems hard for him; Steve doesn’t know how to make it better. “My name is Bucky Barnes. Just got back from my second tour overseas. I guess I found it two years ago when I was on leave.” He gets quieter as he looks down again. “I kept it because you had all those scenes of home, and I missed that. I’m sorry for it.”

Commando runs up behind Steve’s feet and the guy’s eyes get a little wider, and he flinches just a little when he barks. Steve tells him to be quiet, which sort of works. Then he turns back to the guy. “Is this the black sketchbook?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods. “I can’t believe it ended up so far away. That’s kind of amazing.” He leans against the doorway, trying to be all-casual, like attractive but vulnerable-looking veterans show up with his old drawings every day. Which they don’t.

Bucky takes a shuddering breath.  “I also have to apologize for—“

“Really Bucky,” Steve interrupts, then feels terrible about .4 seconds later. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” Bucky looks like he may start crying. Steve really _really_ hopes he doesn’t start crying.

“This one I gotta apologize for, buddy.” He pauses, reaching into his pocket for the book and holds it out to Steve. The cover is half-burned off, and there’s the disgusting brown of dried blood on the first few pages. “It’s not the whole thing, and I can take out the ones that—“

“What happened?” Steve interrupts (again), looking down at it, hoping his horror isn’t apparent on his face.

“IED. My left arm took the brunt of it.”

Steve looks down at the book, then back up to Bucky. There’s blood on the sketchbook. Bucky’s blood. This man’s blood. Steve doesn’t know what the fuck to say, how to react.

And then Bucky says, “I’ll waive the $20 and the blow job since it’s comin’ back in such crappy condition.”

And Steve _grins_. He can’t help it! And in that moment he decides that he needs to know this guy. “Doesn’t seem fair,” Steve starts, playing with the string of his hoodie, trying to seem casual. “How about I at least give you a cup of coffee for your trouble?”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks.

“It’s the least I can do,” Steve responds, letting Bucky in while using his foot to keep Commando from getting out.

He watches Bucky look around and wonders, if maybe, he would let Steve draw him some time.


	74. Bedtime Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "a prompt: steve kisses bucky's forehead. they hold hands. alternately: bucky kisses steve's forehead. they hold hands." - oldsouldier

Steve is seven and Bucky is eight the first time it happens.

Steve’s ma has a long shift, so he’s staying at the Barnes’ house. It’s good wooden floors and two bedrooms: one for Bucky’s parents, and one for Bucky and his sisters. But when Steve stays over, the two of them sleep in the living room, pulling out the couch cushions and sleeping on the floor. And while it’s usually fun to stay at the Barnes’, tonight Steve is teary-eyed, missing his ma. Bucky is sleeping next to him, and Steve is trying to be quiet, but can’t help the soft little whimpers he’s making.

Bucky rolls around. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly. The rest of the Barneses are sleeping, and they’re only allowed to sleep in the living room if they stay quiet.

Steve sniffs a few times, frustrated with himself for being such a crybaby in front of Bucky. “Nothin’,” he mutters.

“Not nothin’,” Bucky says. He reaches over and takes Steve’s hand, gives it a little squeeze. “C’mon Stevie, tell me what’s wrong.”

Steve looks down. “Miss my ma,” he whispers.

“She’ll be back in the mornin’,” Bucky says, soft. Even though it’s pretty dark, moonlight filters in through the blinds, lighting up Bucky’s face as he smiles.

“But…” Steve starts, voice wobbling. “I can’t sleep.”

“Is there somethin’ she usually does for you that helps?” Bucky asks. He’s so gentle and kind; Steve thinks it must come from having little sisters. Steve’s dad is dead, so he’ll never have the chance to learn to be gentle and kind the way that Bucky is.

“Usually sings a song, then kisses my head,” Steve says.

Bucky moves a little closer and starts singing a soft song. It’s in another language; maybe Yiddish, like his ma speaks. His voice is kind of scratchy and not all that good, but it’s enough that Steve feels comfortable closing his eyes again, trying to focus on the song. A few minutes pass before Bucky stops. Steve almost asks him for another song, but before he can, Bucky starts something else, also in Yiddish.

By the end of the second song, Steve’s having a hard time staying awake. He can only barely feel the brush of Bucky’s lips on his forehead, his voice as he whispers, “Night Steve.”

…

Steve doesn’t remember when it becomes a habit, but it does. Sleepless childhood nights turn to teenage years, where Bucky kisses his forehead after he bandages wounds. And then even later, when they share one bed and Bucky has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out, but always remembers to kiss Steve’s forehead before he flops down asleep, snoring into Steve’s bad ear.

…

In 2017, Steve wakes up as Bucky crawls into his bed. “Couldn’t sleep,” Bucky mumbles, burrowing into Steve’s blankets. Steve sits up and smiles. “So you thought you’d come annoy me?”

Bucky huffs. “You love it,” he responds, scowling.

He’s not lying.

Steve can’t help the stupid grin he gets when he looks down at Bucky in his blankets, how his long hair looks messy and tangled on his pillow, how his blue eyes stand out, even in the dark. “Dumb smile,” Bucky says, glancing away.

“Maybe ‘cause I’m stupid over you,” Steve says.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but looks back up. “Sorry for wakin’ ya.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Bucky smiles, just a little, and shuts his eyes. “I’ll be quiet,” he says. “Won’t even know I’m here.”

Steve leans over slow, and gently presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

“Thought that was my job,” Bucky says as Steve pulls himself up.

Something warm burns in the pit of Steve’s stomach as he lays down next to Bucky and wraps an arm across Bucky’s body. “Just glad you’re here,” Steve repeats before they both fall asleep.


	75. Courting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "OOOOOOH! DO EITHER THE FAE OR THE DRAGON ONE (YES I AM PREDICTABLE IT'S ONE OF MY MOST CHARMING QUALITIES)" - oldsouldier
> 
> “I was just taking a walk through the woods and I didn’t think Fae really existed, and I really don’t think I’ll accept any food from you” au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a few lines about body image at the beginning of this ficlet. Just wanted to let y'all know!

“Are you just saying that because you think you look fat? Because I think you look fine.”

“Listen buddy,” Bucky says to the little guy in the tree. “My body image is my business, and not yours. And you’re tryin’ to shove berries in my face — I wasn’t born yesterday! Those are probably poisonous!”

The guy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m trying to kill you,” he says, dripping with sarcasm, which, okay, Bucky thought fae were supposed to be, like, super literal, so that’s a surprise. “I would just kill some random guy in the first who I just met.”

“I dunno how you roll!” Bucky says, and wow. That was painfully dorky. If it was ever not obvious that he’s an American tourist in Ireland, now no one would mistake him for someone who ever lived outside the US.

“I’m gonna roll right outta this tree if you don’t shut up,” the guy says, which is rude.

“That’s rude,” Bucky says, channelling his inner Michelle Tanner.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who keeps refusing my hospitality.”

What this guy doesn’t know that Bucky isn’t just here for shits. He’s here because he’s a PhD student studying Irish mythology for his dissertation. So not only does Bucky know that if he eats the berries he’s probably gonna have to stay in this forest forever, but also that generally speaking, refusing someone’s hospitality in mythology is generally a very bad idea.

So he’s kind of at an impasse here.

Of course this would happen to him.

“Can I, like, get to know you a little before I commit to eating those, at least?”

The guy sighs. “Sure,” he says. “If you must.”

“I must,” Bucky insists. “I must!”

…

“Steve seems really dull for a fae. Shouldn’t you be named, Adair and Nuallan or something else that’s actually dreamy?”

“Excuse you,” Steve says. Steve is still up in his tree, but Bucky is laying on the trail, tired from a long day of hiking and dealing with his weird fae guy. “Steve is a plenty dreamy name. Better than Bucky.”

There’s a pause, then Bucky says, “I never told you my name.”

Despite looking like a delicate, slightly-older Peter Pan, Steve seems to blush. “Y-yes you did!” he stutters out.

“I think I’d remember telling you my name.”

“No you wouldn’t. That’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb,” Bucky shoots back.

“You’re a child,” Steve says.

Bucky huffs, “Am not” pretty childishly.

“Okay fine,” Steve says. “I may’ve seen you when you were walking around the ruins with your friends yesterday and overheard them saying your name.”

“So you’re stalkin’ me?!” Bucky cries.

“No!” Steve said. “It was just a coincidence that you came around my neck of the woods today. It felt like fate.”

“Fate?” Bucky asks, eyebrows raised. “You’re a fae. Shouldn’t you believe in somethin’, I dunno, bigger than fate?”

“What could be bigger than fate?” Steve asks, looking honestly confused.

“I think that’s a philosophical question that’s better discussed somewhere other than the ground.”

“You chose to lay on the ground,” Steve says. “I offered to let you come up in the tree.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Okay Steve, whatever. So, what’re you doin’ tryin’ to feed berries to a human and trick him into stayin’ forever at the faerie court? This your job or somethin’?”

“No!” Steve cries. “No, it’s not like that at all.”

“Then why me?” Bucky asks.

Steve looks away. “So like, this guy I know, Brokk—“

“Now that’s a good name for a fae,” Bucky mutters. Steve shoots him a dirty look, and Bucky sighs. “Continue,” he says.

“Yeah, well, Brokk comes to court the other day with this really gorgeous human who is just so obviously miserable, and he’s showing his human off, saying how good he is in…” Steve pauses, blushing. “Anyhow, it’s obvious this guy doesn’t want to be here, so I start talking to him, and he tells me as much. Brokk gets all in my face about it and says that there’s no way a human would actually want to come to the faerie court. So I kind of go away for a few days because I’m pissed, but I overhear you with your friends talking about your studies so I thought…” He takes a breath. “I thought that you may actually want to come to court.”

Bucky sits up. “Of course I’d want to come to court. I just maybe wouldn’t want to stay there forever.”

“I know that now…” Steve says.

“Is there a way I could go without eating the berries?” Bucky asks.

Steve perks up a little. “Yeah,” he says. “You could.”

“Bozo,” Bucky says, scrambling up. “What’re you waitin’ for? Let’s go?”

“Really?” Steve asks.

“Hell yeah,” Bucky says. “This is gonna be the best research trip ever. I’m gonna totally show up Claude — this asshole in my cohort.”

“And I’ll show up Brokk!” Steve says, grinning kind of evilly.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”


	76. Actual Golden Retriever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "a prompt: someone's hair gets petted. someone's forehead gets kissed. (my prompts are always terrible and vague and sappy as hell and for that i apologize)" - oldsouldier

“We will fix you,” Bucky says, looking deep into Steve’s big blue eyes, hands on Steve’s back. “We’ll figure this out.”

Steve, in return, licks a wide stripe across Bucky’s forehead.

“That’s cute,” Sam says. “He’s giving you kisses.”

Bucky, in return, flips Sam off.

…

After a tense evening with Stark — fucking Tony Stark — trying to find a way to turn Steve back into a human all Bucky wants is to settle down, crack a beer, and then get some shut eye.

Actual golden retriever Steve Rogers has other plans, which include bounding around Bucky’s apartment and getting his snout in all sorts of shit that Bucky doesn’t want him to.

Like his knives. Mostly his knives.

He should get Steve a collar.

“Steve,” he says, exasperated. “C’mere.”

Steve goes to attention at his name and bounds over to where Bucky is standing, jumping up on his hind legs and bowling Bucky over. Thankfully, the couch is beneath him, but unthankfully, Steve is heavy as hell and Bucky’s got a mouthful of fur.

Steve barks and scrambles to get comfortable, which involves a lot of jabbing his legs into Bucky’s pelvis and groin. Bucky grunts as Steve situates himself horizontally across Bucky’s lap, which means that unless he shoves Steve off, Bucky is effectively trapped.

The beer is still in the fridge.

And the remote is on the other side of the couch, outside his reach.

But Steve is looking up at Bucky with those damn blue eyes and panting loudly.

“You’re an ass,” Bucky says. Steve barks. “Alright, alright,” Bucky responds as he begins to pet him. Steve’s head flops down and his tail starts wagging something fierce. “You like that?” Bucky asks. Steve sort of whoofs out a big breath. “Yeah you do.” He pets Steve for a while — which is such a weird thing to think about, so Bucky doesn’t — spacing out and just enjoying the feel of Steve’s fur beneath his flesh fingers.

He even scratches Steve a little, which makes Steve wiggle happily underneath him, his tail beating steadily into the couch. Bucky can’t help it; he smiles.

“Last time we shared it an apartment it was 1942.” Steve looks at him as if to say, ‘Remember when I told you we could live together in 2016?’ To which Bucky responds, “Shaddup, Steve, Jesus. You really know how to ruin the moment.” Steve sighs again, flopping down. Bucky returns to scratching and Steve resumes wagging his tail. “It wouldn’t’ve worked out, us livin’ together,” Bucky says, quiet. “I know you love me, but not the way I love you. Because I love you so much.”

All of a sudden Steve scrambles up, releasing Bucky’s legs. He circles the couch cushion next to Bucky before sitting, his head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. He looks up at Bucky with those big eyes. “It’s ‘cause I love ya, you mook,” Bucky says. Steve lets out a big doggy breath in Bucky’s face. “Ew,” Bucky says, laughing. “But you know what? It’s still better than that day you threw up cotton candy at Coney. You remember that?” Steve doesn’t respond, because he’s a dog. “Well I do. And your breath smelled gross.” Steve noses at Bucky’s chin. “What?” he asks, still laughing. “You tryin’ to get me to shut up?” Steve licks his cheek and lips. “Nah, you just want a kiss, don’t ya?” Bucky asks. Steve puts his front paws on Bucky’s thigh, reaching his neck up to keep licking at Bucky’s face. “Jesus, you’re an insistent little shit, aren’t ya? Always were though.”

Steve presses his cold nose to Bucky’s cheek, which makes Bucky flinch away. Steve barks, and Bucky grins. “Fine, you asked for it,” he says before reaching over and pressing a kiss between Steve’s eyes.

Forty seconds later he has a large, naked Steve Rogers on his couch next to him.

“What the fuck?” Bucky asks.

Steve looks up at him, sheepish and blushing. “True love’s kiss breaks the curse?”

“Should I… um… bring you some pants?” Bucky suggests.

“You could,” Steve says. “Or you could kiss me again.”

Bucky goes for the second option.


	77. River Runs Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Prompt time YAY. I'm one sad bag of beans now and your fics always cheer my up. <3 How about "I came home to find that my daughter brought in a dog that is not ours. Well, at least there's a phone on the dog's tag."" - anon

Steve comes home after a long day of work to find Natasha on the couch watching TV, same as always.

The unusual thing is the fluffy Australian shepherd laying next to her, head on her lap, eyes closed as she strokes its neck and back. “Dad!” she says, but doesn’t run up to hug him like usual. Steve thinks that may have something to do with the position of the dog.

“Hey kiddo.” She doesn’t say anything about the dog, so Steve asks, “Whose dog is that?”

“She could be our dog,” she says, smirking.

“Natasha,” Steve says, slipping out of his shoes and padding his way to the couch. “This isn’t our dog. It—”

“She,” Natasha corrects.

“She probably misses her owner, and her owner probably misses her.”

“I know.” Natasha sighs. “She’s just really sweet.”

“I didn’t know you wanted a dog,” Steve says, watching the way Natasha looks at this dog.

Natasha shrugs. “Nobody’d be home to walk a dog. It wouldn’t be fair,” she says, and not for the first time Steve is amazed at how smart his daughter is, but also a little sad that she never even asked. Steve starts thinking about whether or not they could find a dog walker in this area, or if Natasha would want a little dog that doesn’t need a lot of exercise. But he reminds himself that before he starts thinking about spoiling his daughter — which she doesn’t let him do enough — he has to figure out what to do with the big fluff ball currently licking Natasha’s hand.

“Does she have tags?” Steve asks.

Natasha nods. “Yes, her name is River and her owner’s name is James, and there’s a phone number. I just didn’t call because I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

“You’re the best,” Steve says, leaning over to kiss the top of her head.

“Dad,” she says, giggling. Steve kisses her again, just to be goofy, and she reaches up and kisses his cheek.

It’s moments like this where Steve knows that adopting Natasha was the best decision of his life.

Steve pulls out his phone and unlocks it. “I’ve gotta see her collar,” Steve says.

“River,” Natasha announces. “Sit.”

The dog — River? — sits up, tongue lolling. “Good girl!” Natasha exclaims and River wags her tail.

Steve reaches over and checks her tags. She’s so calm and gentle with Natasha, and she doesn’t seem in the least perturbed to have a stranger touching her tags. Steve realizes why moments later when he reads the tags. She’s an emotional support animal. Steve frowns, thinking about how worried her owner must be. They have the same area code, so Steve hopes he can get her back to her owner soon. Steve plugs the owner’s — James Barnes’ — phone number into his phone and steps away to call. He watches Natasha petting River on the couch, and resolves to figure out what kind of pet she wants. She’s ten, and she’s so responsible and loving that Steve is sure that any dog, cat, or ferret would be happy to have her.

While Steve is musing, James Barnes picks up. “H-hello?” he asks, sounding a little frantic.

“Hello, is this James Barnes?”

“Yes, yes it is. Uh. Who’s callin’?”

“My name is Steve Rogers. My daughter Natasha found your dog.”

James exhales. “Thank God,” he says, sounding a little breathless. Steve smiles, happy that this man is feeling some relief. “Sorry, I was worried.”

“No need to apologize, sir. We just wanted to know when we can get her home.”

“I’ve, uh, been out lookin’ for her, so it’ll take me a few to get home, but I’ll head back and you can come whenever, really, when it’s convenient. Or I can come get her. I’d just need to call a friend to drive me, but that won’t be a problem.” He adds, a little softer, “I’m just so happy she’s safe.”

“We’d like to get her back to you as soon as we can, no need for you to borrow a car. Where do you live?” Steve asks.

James rattles off his address. “Oh, I’m familiar with the area. I grew up there.”

“Yeah?” James asks.

“Yes. You’re off of Monroe Avenue?”

“About two blocks south.”

“Great,” Steve says. “We should be there in a little more than a half hour, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s great. Thank you so much.”

“It’s not a problem James. We’re happy to help.”

“Oh, uh, if you don’t mind, call me Bucky?”

Steve smiles. “I don’t mind at all.”

…

River is an angel during the car ride. Initially Steve was worried that she would bark or be nervous, but she was happy to lay in the back with Natasha, head on her lap. Steve enjoys the ride, getting to point out some favorite childhood places to Natasha. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t taken her around here before; he hopes he’ll be able to do it again.

Bucky lives in an older brownstone, split up into apartments. River follows him and Natasha easily, tail wagging when she sees where they are. She barks a little and the door opens up. “River!” the man in the doorway calls. River bounds up to him as he bends down. He laughs as she licks his face.

Steve shouldn’t notice this, but he is very good-looking.

He’s broad and stocky, maybe a few inches shorter than Steve. His brunette hair is pulled into a little ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his blue eyes shine as he looks at River. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, showing off the muscles on his right arm, but his left arm is limp in a black sling. But his smile. His smile. He looks overjoyed, grinning and laughing, the skin around his eyes crinkling in an incredibly endearing way.

Once River has calmed down a little, Bucky seems to notice that Steve and Natasha are standing there. He clears his throat and straightens up, keeping his good hand in River’s fur. “Thank you guys,” he says. “As you can tell, I’m really happy she’s back home.”

“She seems happy, too,” Natasha says. Steve beams at his daughter; she’s got such great manners.

“Oh sorry,” Bucky says, letting go of River to extend a hand to Natasha. “Are you Natasha? I’m Bucky.”

Natasha shakes his hand with a nod. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Same to you.” He looks up to Steve. “And you’re Steve?”

“Guilty,” Steve says, extending his hand to Bucky, who shakes it.

“Thank you so much for bringin’ River back,” Bucky says. River gets excited at her name and nudges Bucky’s leg. “A storeowner was hasslin’ me about her, so I ended up leaving her tied up outside. Apparently some kid came and untied her and chased her. I’m glad she ended up somewhere safe.”

“That sucks,” Natasha announces.

Both Steve and Bucky snort, even though Steve has to be a dad and say, “Language.” Natasha rolls her eyes. (Isn’t she too young for eye-rolling? Please let her stay too young for eye-rolling.)

“Is there anythin’ I can do for you? To thank you?”

“Oh no,” Steve says. “It was our pleasure.”

“Could I have a glass of water?” Natasha asks, looking up at Steve with… a kind of weird expression.

“Sure thing,” Bucky says. “If it’s alright with your dad?”

Steve nods. “Any friend of River’s is a friend of ours.”

Bucky grins again, his eyes doing that crinkly thing. Steve can’t help but feel happy to have been the person to make him smile like that. “C’mon in, then,” Bucky says, opening the door up to let River through, then Steve and Natasha.

…

It turns out that Steve never needs to look up dog walkers or shelters in the area, because it turns out that Steve and Natasha start seeing a lot of River (and Bucky), just hanging out and getting to know each other. And then River and Natasha spend time together with a babysitter when Steve and Bucky start wanting to spend some time together alone. And eventually, River moves over to the Rogers’ house, along with Bucky.

That’s the best day of all.


	78. Ew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bucky + Sam for 5+23!" - anon
> 
> 5\. “There’s blood on my/your hands.”
> 
> 23\. “So much for not getting involved.”

“No,” Sam says with one look at Bucky.

“I haven’t even—“

“James Buchanan Barnes, there’s blood on your hands.”

“Jesus, you sound like my ma—“

“Which I take as a compliment.”

“But—“

“No, I’m not getting involved.”

Bucky scowls, a lock of hair flopping into his face. He tries blowing it out while maintaining the scowl, and Sam has to keep himself from snorting.

“Why don’t you use your hands?” Sam asks, keeping a straight face.

“There’s blood on them,” Bucky growls.

“Blood isn’t a part of your hair care routine?” Sam asks, eyebrow raised.

“I—“

“Wait, did you get blood on my doorknob?” Bucky looks up at the ceiling, all innocent-like. “C’mon, Barnes. That’s just unsanitary.”

“Well, y’know what else is unsanitary? The AIM goons that were trying to storm your place, who I fought off.”

Sam frowns. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Bucky says.

“Huh. Well, it’s still nasty.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky takes a few steps forward, closing the space between them. “Shut up,” he says, grabbing the back of Sam’s neck and pulling him forward for a hard, sloppy kiss. Sam relents — of course he relents — and kisses him back, stuffing his hands into the pockets of Bucky’s pants and giving that ass a squeeze. Bucky grabs Sam’s chin, angles it up, and —

“Ha,” Bucky says, pulling away.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I’d look in a mirror if I were you.”

Sam frowns. Hard. “You got blood all over my face, didn’t you.”

“So much for not getting involved,” Bucky responds, sing-song.

“You’re nasty,” Sam says, hurrying for the bathroom.

“Yeah, but you love me!” Bucky calls behind him.

And God help him, he does.


	79. Watch Your Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "48 stucky!!! :)" - anon
> 
> 48\. “Now, just hold on a diddly darn minute.”

Bucky stares at Peggy.

Peggy stares back at Bucky.

Bucky prays that Steve is done changing soon.

“So,” Peggy says, sitting straight, hands folded in her lap and ankles crossed. “You’re going on a date with daddy tonight?”

Somehow, at ten years old, Peggy exudes an air of confidence and smarts that Bucky feels that he’s never had in his twenty-eight years of life.

“Uh yeah. I am.”

“And the two of you have been out several times?” Bucky nods. “Hmm,” she she says before silence falls between the two of them again.

“So, uh, how was school?”

“It’s summer vacation,” Peggy says.

“Aren’t you goin’ to the summer camp? For smart kids?”

She nods. “But it isn’t school.”

“Still pretty cool, right?”

She shrugs. “It’s fine.”

Quiet.

Bucky really wants Peggy to like him. He had this plan to invite her out with him, to go to this little British tea shop he knows so they could talk and get to know each other over finger sandwiches. He had run this plan over with Steve, who thought it was great, and had set it up for next weekend. Bucky has planned for that, had already called the place to make sure they had all of Peggy’s favorites ready because he wanted to make a good impression.

And now Steve has ruined all that by assuring him it would only take five minutes for him to get changed. It’s been ten, and Bucky is crashing and burning with Peggy.

Which means he’s crashing and burning with Steve, since Steve would never want to be with someone Peggy doesn’t like.

Which is a problem, because he’s already bought the ring he wants to propose to Steve with.

“Dad says that you’re taking me to tea next weekend.”

“If you don’t mind.”

She hums. “I don’t. Dad says that it’s sweet that you’re trying to get to know me before you propose.”

Bucky’s eyes grow wide. “What?” he asks.

“He said that I should be nice to you because he really wants you to propose, but to let him know if I think there’s anything fishy about you. Should I tell him about how awkward you are? Or is that something he already knows?”

“Now, just hold on a go—“ He pauses, mouth agape, knowing that he should not swear in front of Steve’s child. No matter what’s happening, he should not swear at Steve’s child. “Goooooosh diddly darn minute.” He and Peggy look at each other for a second.

And another.

And one more.

And then they both dissolve into laughter, his raspy laugh with her high-pitched chuckle filling the room. They laugh for what feels like a solid minute, both erupting into a new bout of chuckles each time they look at each other.

When they’re finally done, Peggy stands up. Bucky worries for a moment that she’s just… going to leave or something. But instead, she crosses the room and plops down right next to him on the couch. “That was so stupid,” she says, smiling up at him.

He grimaces. “I know.”

She laughs again. “I can see why dad likes you.” Bucky tries to hide the sappy smile that’s threatening to take over his face.

“Who do I like?” Steve asks from the doorway to his bedroom.

Bucky and Peggy turn to him in tandem. “Bucky,” Peggy supplies.

“That’s true.”

“So you should just go ahead and propose tonight,” she says to Steve. “I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

“P-Pegs! What the…” He looks over to Bucky. “She doesn’t know, um, it’s…” He trails off, going red. Bucky looks down at Peggy. Peggy looks up at Bucky.

And they both start laughing again.


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ""My nightmares are usually about losing you" steve/bucky, preferably said by steve but not necessarily" -pian0hands

“You sleep?” Bucky asks, already sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Yes,” Steve lies, absurdly grateful that Bucky made a whole pot.

“Me too.”

They don’t talk about it.

——

They talk about a lot of things, Steve and Bucky. They talk about the weather, and about just how many varieties of fruit there are at the supermarket. They talk about going shopping with Sam and his mom and about the dogs they meet at the dog park. They even talk about the missions that Steve goes on, and whether or not Bucky still wants to abstain from going.

They don’t talk about the screaming.

——

“I don’t think either of us have slept a full night in ages,” Steve says to Sam. “We’re just waking up, all the time.”

“Steve, this may not be what you want to hear, but if Barnes is waking you up—“

“No,” Steve interrupts, quiet, “It’s the both of us.” Sam raises his eyebrows. “We both scream.”

“Steve,” Sam says, low and soft, and he doesn’t finish his thought.

Steve shrugs. “It’s just how it is.”

——

No, no, no… He runs through the dark corridor, slamming each door open with his shield, swearing every time they open to emptiness. The corridor gets longer, and he screams Bucky’s name again and again, just trying to find him, to see if he’s alright, if he’s—

He opens a door and falls in, screams echoing as he falls and falls, won suddenly falling, blocking his vision, swirling around him. He reaches up, but there’s nothing there, no door, no corridor, just the noises of a train in the distance.

He doesn’t feel a thing when he hits the ground. He takes one breath, another, and he turns his head — turns to see Bucky, and Bucky is covered in blood, he’s dying, he’s dead, he’s—“

——

“Steve?” Bucky asks, quiet.

Steve is upright in his bed, breathing hard. “Buck?” he asks, looking over to the doorway.

Bucky is standing there, looking soft and tired in flannel pants and a baggy t-shirt. He’s got his finger on the light switch, and it’s only then that Steve realizes that the lights are on. “I heard it was better,” Bucky starts, as if he knows what Steve was thinking, “To wake someone up by turning on the lights.”

“Oh.” Steve looks away. “Sorry, if I was—“

“I was, too,” Bucky interrupts, laughing ruefully. “Woke myself up.” Steve looks back to see Bucky looking shy. “I thought it may be better if I…” He looks at Steve, at his bed.

“Yes!” Steve says, overeager. Bucky chuckles.

Bucky turns off the light and heads over to the bed, slipping into the empty space next to Steve, pulling the covers onto him. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hey,” Steve responds, settling back down.

They’re quiet for a few long minutes, just looking at each other. Bucky’s got this little shy smile, simultaneously happy and sad. Steve can’t help but reach out and tangle his fingers with Bucky’s metal ones.

“What do you dream about?” Steve asks, soft.

“Bad shit: the stuff I did, the stuff they did to me. Can’t block it outta my head when I’m sleeping.” He pauses, then asks, “And you?”

“My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says, looking into Bucky’s eyes, even though he wants to look away.

There’s a moment of quiet between them, then Bucky’s smile spreads. “Rogers, you always find a way to make me look like a self-centered ass.”

Steve laughs, squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Can’t help it. Think about you all the time.”

“Aw Steve,” Bucky says, snuggling up closer. Steve chuckles, fitting his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck, disentangling his hand from Bucky’s and throwing it over his side, pulling Bucky in tight.

“I love you,” Steve says.

Bucky leans down, kisses Steve’s hair. “I love you, too.”

—-

When they wake in the morning, they both feel more rested than they’ve been in seventy years.


	81. Language Barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "hi ^^ i really love your fics and your ficlets and your prompt fills !!! (basically, everything you write) and i'm really excited about your big bang fic!! :D that said i have a prompt! from the uh, apartment au (for stucky :D) : 'I’m pretty sure you don’t speak English but for some reason I’ve started telling you about my crappy days while we ride the elevator together and I don’t feel so alone anymore’ AU" - beatdownhope

The elevator stops at the ninth floor, and attractive Russian dude walks in with attractive Russian woman close behind. They’re quiet today, slipping inside and leaning against a wall together without speaking. They’re both intimidating — he wears a black leather jacket and sunglasses, hair slicked back, and she has a tan trench coat over tailored jeans and high-heeled leather boots. If they weren’t living in the same apartment building as Steve, he would think they were supermodels of some kind, living and sleeping together like some kind of HBO show.

But they’re living in Steve’s reasonably-priced apartment complex, so he’s pretty sure that they’re just the most attractive people at their desk jobs.

They must run on a similar schedule to Steve, because they’re on the elevator together at least a few times a week, coming and going. The two typically come as a set, but sometimes he’ll ride with one or the other.

Steve thinks the guy is really cute.

Steve would never say so out loud.

When the elevator dings again, the doors open to the ground floor. The attractive woman leaves as usual, but the attractive man pauses, smiles at Steve and holds the door. Steve looks at him dumbfounded, confused, until he realizes that he’s waiting for Steve to leave. “Sorry,” Steve mutters, squaring his shoulders and heading out, feeling smaller than his already small five feet, four inches. Attractive woman waits for attractive man a few steps away from the elevator, and says something in what Steve thinks is Russian. The attractive man laughs, and Steve doesn’t see him again for three days.

…

“Hold the door!” Steve yells, running across the lobby as fast as he can while holding a canvas that’s bigger than he is.

By some miracle, the door stays open, and Steve struggles to catch his breath as a hand reaches out and presses the button for the tenth floor. Confused — because that’s his floor — Steve turns to see attractive guy. “Ya?” he asks, gesturing to the number.

“Oh, yeah. That’s mine.” Steve is quiet as the doors close. “Sorry about that. Tough day.”

The guy is quiet, but he smiles.

And Steve realizes that he… Probably doesn’t speak English? He’s never heard him speak anything but Russian, and this is the one time Steve has ever really addressed him, but he’s not getting much of a response.

So for some reason, Steve starts saying, “My boss wouldn’t let me hang this in the gallery, even though he said I could have the wall space for the next show…” He sighs. “I’ve been at this place three years and he promises me wall space every show, but then gives it to someone who ‘shows a lot of potential’ but hasn’t run the place.” He sighs. “Maybe I just suck.”

The elevator dings and opens up to the ninth floor. Attractive guy gives Steve a smile, reaches over and squeezes his shoulder quickly before leaving.

Steve doesn’t swoon, but my God. It’s the closest he’s ever come.

…

Attractive guy starts riding the elevator alone, and Steve starts talking to him. It’s cheaper than a therapist, and the little shoulder squeeze? Sometimes it’s the best part of Steve’s day.

…

“My boss spat on my painting,” Steve says. His eyes are red and puffy, his canvas held tightly in his hands. “I quit, but it’s still…” His voice breaks. “I just don’t know what to do now. I’m unemployed, I have no connections… I… I’m alone…” He clears his throat, knowing he’s close to tears.

And suddenly there’s an arm wrapping around him, pulling him close. Steve lets himself be hugged, pushing his head into attractive guy’s chest. “Sorry,” he wheezes. “I’m having a really bad day.”

The elevator dings, and with a final squeeze, attractive guy leaves.

Steve misses him immediately.

…

A few days later, Steve is in a real suit, beaming. The elevator door opens up, and attractive guy is inside, and Steve can’t wait to tell him about his new job—

“I can’t, Nat, you know I can’t. I’m in way to deep for this.” Attractive woman — Nat — rolls her eyes. “We have to move. That’s the only—“ Attractive man looks forward, sees Steve and his eyes go wide. “Fuck,” he says.

Steve straightens up, squares his shoulders, and runs out of the building as fast as he can.

Regrettably, the suit, paired with Steve’s shitty lungs, means that he only gets about a block away before he has to slow down a little. He hears attractive guy behind him, yelling, “Hey! Wait! Slow down!”

With a harsh sigh, Steve turns around, walking angrily towards attractive guy, who isn’t that far away. “Since when do you speak English?” he asks, sounding harsh to his own words.

“Since forever. I was born in Queens.”

“Then why didn’t you say something!” Steve asks. “I’ve been pouring my heart out to you for weeks and you haven’t said anything.” The ‘and now I feel like the world’s biggest idiot’ is implied.

Attractive guy runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “‘Cus you would’ve stopped.” Steve’s anger falls into confusion. “I mean, you needed someone to talk to about the whole work thing, right? And you said you didn’t really have anyone… So I thought it was okay. Whatever. I thought it was helpful and maybe it wasn’t, so I’m sorry. Alright? Sorry. I’ve been feelin’ awful ‘bout it for ages and…”

And Steve comes to the realization that attractive guy is a complete chatterbox, who stopped talking so that some guy he doesn’t know could talk about his feelings.

“It did help,” Steve interrupts.

Some of the nerves leave attractive man, and he seems less tense. “Yeah?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “I should thank you.”

“It was… uh…” Attractive man’s cheeks go a little pink, cute and unexpected on such a nice guy. “Not a thing, a problem, whatever. Nothin’ at all.”

And Steve realizes that attractive man? He’s shy.

“I’m Steve,” Steve says.

“Bucky.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t even sound Russian.”

Bucky laughs, and Steve likes the sound. “I’m not Russian. I just teach Russian. And literature. Russian literature.” He sounds a little flustered, and it makes Steve smile.

“Are you busy?” Steve asks.

“What?”

“I mean, you’ve heard me talk a lot. I thought maybe I could buy you some coffee, and hear what you have to say?”

Bucky nods, slow. “Yeah,” he says. “That’d be nice.” He pauses. “Almost as nice as you look in that suit?” he offers, half-cringing, realizing how dumb he sounds.

Steve laughs. “Wow, you’re embarrassing when you talk.” Bucky’s face falls and Steve quickly adds, “But in a good way.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah.”


	82. Arms and Legs in the Vehicle at All Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "HOLY SHIT IM IN THE WRONG CAR AU PLZ IF YOU'RE FEELING THE DESIRE" - howdoyou-write.

“Holy shit,” Bucky says. “I’m in the wrong car.”

“No shit,” hot dude says.

“To be fair,” Bucky says, “I also have a green Corolla.”

Hot guy levels an impressive glare at him. “This is a blue Passat.”

“ _To be fair_ ,” Bucky tries again, “I had never had a Long Island Iced Tea before last night.”

The guy nods. “That is fair,” he says, “but I’m also late for an appointment.”

“Oh, where you headed?” Bucky asks, hoisting himself up. He squints a little, looks around. The upholstery is even different than the Corolla, and he can probably blame this on Clint, at the end of the day. Clint was supposed to keep something like this from happening. Then again, it’s probably his fault for trusting Clint to keep something like this from happening, since, y’know, Clint.

“West Campus.“

Bucky straightens up, excited, which is a mistake since it does nothing but make his head pound. “Shit, dude, that’s _perfect_. Would you mind if I tagged along for the ride? I know I’m the rando who fell asleep in your car, but I can promise you I’m not an axe murderer, and I probably have five dollars for gas money.”

“Well, with an endorsement like that,” hot guy says before turning the car on. He pulls out of his space and Bucky flops back down, happy to lay around while this guy drives him. “I’m Steve, by the way,” the guy says.

“Bucky.” Bucky shuts his eyes. The sun hurts and he doesn’t have his sunglasses.

“So, is your apartment on West Campus?” Steve asks.

Bucky thinks Steve’s a great guy, he really does — a car ride is truly all it takes for Bucky’s good opinion — but if he’s gonna insist on talking while Bucky has a hangover, Bucky’s gonna need some coffee. “Nah, East Campus. But Peggy’s is on West Campus.”

“Peggy’s?” Steve asks as he takes a turn.

“Greasy spoon diner run by an old lesbian couple who can make pancakes that can soak the poison out of your bloodstream, and also your soul. Always go there when I’m hungover.”

Steve chuckles, low and, well, sexy. “That sounds awesome.”

“Mm-hm, it is.” “You want some company?”

Bucky opens an eye. Steve is looking at the road — which he probably should be — cool as a cucumber. “Why, you offering?”

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “My meeting should take ten minutes, fifteen tops. And I’m thinking that if you drank Long Island Iced Teas last night, you were probably looking for company, but if you spent it in my car, you probably didn’t get any.”

Bucky busts up laughing — he can’t help it! Everything Steve’s saying is true.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

“Yes, Jesus, yes!”

“And just so you know, you’re buying.”

“Oh?” Bucky asks. “Why’s that?”

“You barfed on my bumper and I didn’t mention it until just now.”

Bucky thinks he’s in love.


	83. B.U.C.K.Y.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m an android and you’re a human and wow what is that warmth I feel when I see you?" - oldsouldier

“Hello. My name is B.U.C.K.Y.. It is very nice to meet you, sir.”

“What’s that stand for?” Rogers, Steven Grant asks.

“Battle Unit Code Kentucky Yahoo.”

Rogers, Steven Grant stares at B.U.C.K.Y.. “But what does that _mean_?” he asks.

Emotion identified: confusion.

“I do not know,” B.U.C.K.Y. answers. “Knowledge is not imperative for function.”

“Well, I’m going to call you Bucky,” Rogers, Steven Grant asks.

B.U.C.K.Y. likes the name Bucky. B.U.C.K.Y. likes Rogers, Steven Grant.

“I would like to be called Bucky, sir,” B.U.C.K.Y. says.

“Bucky?” “Yes, sir?”

“Call me Steve.”

——

When Steve enters his cell, B.U.C.K.Y. ( _Bucky_ ) stands. “Steve!” he says. “It has been two months, fourteen days, six hours, twelve minutes and twenty-four seconds since you last came!”

“Not that you’re keeping track,” Steve says.

Speech pattern detected: sarcasm.

“I keep track because I care,” B.U.— _Bucky_ says.

Steve smiles. Bucky sits back down to watch Steve smile. He likes it when Steve smiles.

“I talked to Pierce again about letting you out, but he didn’t budge.”

Emotion identified: disappointment.

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He would like to leave with Rogers, Steven Grant, but leaving is not his function.

“I’ll stay here a while. Do you wanna play checkers again?”

“I always win,” Bucky says, “Which frustrates you.”

Steve shrugs. “But _you_ have fun, don’t you?”

Bucky pauses.

He computes.

“Yes,” he says, “I do.”

——

Steve enters the cell at an odd hour.

Bucky does not care. He stands and he smiles. “Steve! It’s been three weeks, four days—“

“Bucky,” Steve interrupts, “Buck, I’ve gotta get you outta here.”

“Buck?” Bucky asks. “What is a Buck.”

Steve pauses, his worried expression softening into something else. He reaches out and takes Bucky’s hand.

Steve’s grip is warm, so warm.

“It’s you,” Steve says. He moves close to Bucky and speaks low and fast. “Bucky, I know this seems strange, but please believe me. You’re in danger. Pierce, Rumlow… They _didn’t make you_ , Bucky.”

Bucky shakes his head. “False. I was coded by—“

“Doctor Abraham Erskine. Rumlow overwrote your code and made you forget.”

Bucky does not know what to say.

“They’re going to use you for something terrible, Bucky. You’ll hurt a lot of people, and you’ll…” His voice cracks.

Emotion(s) detected: sadness, fear.

“You won’t make it. Kentucky Yahoo, it’s what they want you to do, and it’s not good.”

“What do I do, Steve?” Bucky asks.

“Come with me,” Steve says. “I can get you out of here, if you’re willing to follow you. I’ll keep you safe, but you’d have to trust me.”

“I trust you, Steve.”

He squeezes Steve’s hand with what he hopes is gentleness.

Steve smiles and squeezes back.

Emotion detected: happiness.

“Then let’s make a break for it.”

“We will make a break for it,” Bucky says.

Still holding Steve’s hand, he follows Steve out of the cell, and into the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH I'm actually considering making this one into a full fic.


	84. Don't Draw a Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re the bastard who keeps parking in front of my house and you just caught me drawing a dick on your window with a permanent marker… ugh, oops." - Anon.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY PRIUS?”

Steve drops the marker, and it falls onto the car, perfectly angled so as to draw a long black line down the car’s door. The man shrieks.

“What the fuck? What the _fuck_?” he asks, not even looking at Steve now, just pulling his hair as he run towards the car. “That’s my _car_ ,” he says, voice cracking as he looks at the large, hairy penis Steve has drawn on the window.

“Is it?” Steve asks, not sure what to say.

“It _is_ ,” he says. He looks like he’s going to cry. “My ex-boyfriend stole it two months ago, and then I got a call from a friend saying that it’s here, and now _you’re drawing a dick on the window_.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “What?” he asks.

“My ex,” the guy moans, “is a dick.”

It makes sense — the guy who he’s seen coming and going from the Prius doesn’t look like this guy. “Tall? Swarmy-looking? Doesn’t seem like he would drive a Prius?” Steve asks.

The guy nods. “That sounds like Brock.”

Steve looks at the window, then at the guy, then back to his house. “My roommate, her name is Peggy.” The guy looks at Steve like he can’t believe the non-sequitur he’s saying. “She’s a lawyer.”

“I drive a used Prius. I can’t afford a lawyer.”

Steve can’t help but laugh. The guy doesn’t even bother glaring at him — he just slumps. “I think that she’d be willing to help you out. Or, I can convince her, at least. Since I think I probably owe you one because of…” He gestures to his drawing on the window.

The guy looks at Steve with wide eyes, and Steve blushes. He probably shouldn’t be thinking this right now, but he can’t help but notice that he’s really gorgeous, with long brown hair and bright blue eyes. “I’m Bucky,” he says.

“Steve.”

“Can I hug you?” Bucky asks. A little taken aback, he nods. Bucky practically throws himself at Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve and squeezing him tight. “I want to sue him into oblivion,” he says.

“Okay,” Steve responds. “I think we can do that.”

“You drew a dick on my window. I think you can at least try.”

Steve laughs again. “I’ll draw a dick on him, too, if you can get him to sit still for long enough.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “I think we’re gonna be friends,” he says.

“Me too,” Steve finds himself saying. “Me too.”


	85. Just a Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just took a super dangerous job and your trying to talk me out of it, but we really need the money" - whothehellisjessicajones.

“Buck?” Steve asks, yawning as he sits up. The moonlight filtering through the bedroom window falls Steve’s collarbone, and all Bucky wants to do is crawl back into bed and press kisses onto that pale skin. Instead, he turns around, focuses on pulling on his pants. “What’re you doin’?”

“Go back to sleep, Steve,” Bucky says, groping around in the dark for a decent shirt.

“Not when you’re actin’ so fishy,” Steve says. Bucky can hear him pulling the covers up, standing up. Just as he finds a shirt, he feels Steve’s arms wrap around his torso. “C’mon, you. Let’s go back to bed.” Steve presses a kiss to the back of his neck, and Bucky shivers.

“Can’t,” Bucky says. “Got somethin’ I gotta do.”

Steve tightens his grip. “You’re not meetin’ with those cousins of yours, are ya?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. It’s better than lying.

There’s nothing Bucky hates worse than lying to Steve, though he’s had to do it more and more lately.

Instead, he just stands still — he can’t pull on his shirt with Steve there, and Steve knows it.

“Buck…” Steve starts, sounding wrecked to Bucky’s ears.

“It’s just a night,” Bucky says, “Not like I’m joinin’ up with the Diamond brothers, Steve. I’m just keepin’ watch for the guys. Ain’t like it’s a big deal, and they promised me enough to keep us goin’ for three months.”

“I’ll find another job, Buck. I’ll—“

Bucky pulls himself out of Steve’s arms, as gentle as he can. He knows he doesn’t have the time to talk this through with Steve right now. They can talk when it’s all over. “I’m gonna go, Steve. Okay? They’re not the best guys in the world, but they’re my cousins. Not gonna let anythin’ happen to me.”

Steve’s jaw is set, like he’s gonna keep Bucky there any way he can. Bucky dips down and kisses him, all gentle, slipping one hand around the small of his back and pulling him in close. “Just a couple hours, and we can sleep easy for a few months,” he whispers, lips just a hair away from Steve’s.

“I don’t want you doin’ this,” Steve says, quiet.

“I’m gonna.”

“I won’t let you.”

Bucky chuckles, soft and low. “I’m not gonna make it a habit,” he promises.

Steve pushes Bucky’s chest. “Fuck you,” he says. “I said no.”

Bucky shakes his head, pulling the shirt on. “You go back to bed,” he says.

Steve doesn’t, because he’s a stubborn shit. He just watches Bucky get dressed, arms crossed, frowning the whole time. Not exactly how Bucky wants to remember Steve if the operation ends up going south.

When he’s ready, he moves to Steve one last time. He leans in for a kiss, but Steve turns his head, refusing.

“Alright then,” Bucky says. “I’ll see you soon.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but Bucky can feel his gaze as he leaves the apartment and shuts the door behind him.


	86. Immortality Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m immortal and you’re mortal and I don’t know how to explain this to you and soon enough you’re going to realise that I’m not aging… shiiittt" - Anon.

“Steve?”

Steve looks up from his magazine. “Yeah, Buck?” he asks.

Bucky fidgets, drops to his knees next to Steve. He rests his head on Steve’s knee. Steve moves his hand to the back of his neck to start playing with his hair; Bucky shivers at Steve’s warm touch on his own vampiric skin. “I got somethin’ I gotta tell you,” he says quietly, trying to memorize how Steve feels against him. After what he’s going to tell him, Steve may not allow Bucky to get so close again.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, sounding half-distracted, half-amused.

Bucky inhales, shuts his eyes tight. “I’m a vampire,” he says.

“Mm-hmm,” Steve says without missing a beat.

Bucky looks up. “Are you shocked?” he asks. “Betrayed?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Was that what you wanted to tell me?” Bucky nods. “Buck, I’ve known that for _ages_.”

“What?” Bucky asks. “How?”

He’s been so _careful_ , hiding his hunts, avoiding all mirrors. How could Steve have known?

“Bucky, we’ve been together for forty years and you look the same as you did when we met. Either dermatologists really hate you, or you’re some kind of immortal. Figured out the vampire thing by process of elimination.”

Bucky is speechless.

“Now, could you settle down? I wanna finish this article.”

Bucky settles back down, resting his forehead on Steve’s leg. Steve goes back to playing with his hair, and Bucky wonders how he found the greatest human on the planet, and why Steve would want to be with him.

“Love you,” he says.

“Love you, too,” Steve says. “But don’t think you can use this as an excuse to sniff me more. It’s already a little weird.”

Bucky grins.


	87. A Second Date Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re getting chased by the police and you just jumped in my car and yelled drive, wtf man" - Anon.

Bucky is stopped at a stoplight when a skinny dude runs up to him, hoists himself onto the back of Bucky’s motorcycle and says, “Hi, I’m Steve, would you mind driving me away from here?”

“Uh?” Bucky asks. He sees police sirens in the distance. Steve looks at the cars, then back at Steve. “Quickly?” he says, eyebrows raised like Bucky’s being a little slow.

Oh, fuck it.

“Helmet?” Bucky suggests. Steve grabs the spare helmet from the back of the bike and plops it on his head. “Hold on,” Bucky says, and they go.

(Within the speed limit, of course, because if the police are really chasing this guy it’s probably a bad idea to be a speed demon.)

Bucky drives around for a while, heading to the next town over. After a half hour’s passed, Bucky needs gas, so he pulls into a gas station. “Think we’re far enough?” he asks as he hops off his bike.

“Think so,” Steve says as he pulls the helmet off. Bucky pauses to take a good look at him: he really is pretty cute, even if he’s running from the cops. Hopefully it’s for a good reason.

Bucky pulls his wallet out of his pocket. “You got some gas money?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, sure,” Steve says. He pulls a wad of cash out of his back pocket, and Bucky stifles a laugh. The kid doesn’t even have a _wallet_. He’s a mess. He pulls out a wrinkled ten dollar bill and holds it out. “Here,” he says.

Bucky takes it, because gas isn’t free and he’ll need it for lawyer fees if the cops do manage to catch up with them. “So, can I ask why you were runnin’ from the cops? Or should I maintain plausible deniability.”

“Oh, well, I was part of a protest they broke up. So, they weren’t chasing me, in particular? But you were cute, and I wanted to get out of the area, so I tried my luck.” He grins. “Seems like it worked out.”

“Wow,” Bucky says, “You’re a little shit.”

“And you’re ten dollars richer from it. Speaking of which, you know what would be a great use of those ten dollars? Getting some coffee.” He’s blushing as he says it, but he’s got this air of careful confidence that Bucky can’t help but find sexy.

So, fuck it.

“Fine,” he says. “Let’s do it.” Steve grins as Bucky pumps gas.

“And for the record, this is only the second weirdest way I’ve asked a guy out,” Steve says.

Bucky looks back over his shoulder. “Oh? What was the weirdest.”

“I think that’s a second date thing,” Steve says, and, well.

Bucky knows he’s in trouble, but he can’t bring himself to care.


	88. Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re an executioner and I’m about to be executed but you can’t seem to run the guillotine, wait what, why are we running away, man you’re my favourite executioner" - stevebarnacles

“Captain,” Pierce says with a small smile, “I brought a friend of yours here. I thought that in your last moments you would want to see a once-friendly face.”

Steve’s stomach drops. Who does he have? Sam? Natasha? He’s beaten and trapped, tied up without hope of escape. The knowledge that he will die does not scare him nearly as much as the thought that he could bring his friends down with him.

He doesn’t say anything, just tightens his jaw.

Pierce looks over Steve’s shoulder. “Soldier, here,” he says.

All Steve can hear are loud, slow footsteps. He sees a figure in his periphery, dressed in black, moving slow. He wears a mask and has a metal arm. Steve knows who this is — he’s the man who shot Fury.

But Steve doesn’t think he’s a friend.

“Soldier,” Pierce orders, voice light, like he’s ordering take-out. “Remove your goggles.”

The man doesn’t hesitate. He pulls his goggles off and drops them to the ground.

His eyes are blue.

“Do you recognize him, Captain?”

Steve doesn’t look at Pierce, just at “the soldier.” When Pierce says Steve, the man locks eyes with him. His brows are furrowed, but he doesn’t seem angry. He almost seems confused.

“Nothing? Either of you?” Pierce chuckles. “Alright then. Soldier, remove your muzzle.”

The soldier hesitates this time, but removes the piece, lets it drop to the floor.

He looks at Steve. Steve looks at him, heart hammering in his chest.

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he asks, in Bucky’s voice, that same inflection that Steve’s known his entire life.

“Kill him,” Pierce says, casual, cold.

Steve starts pulling on his restraints, wounds burning, broken bones aching. “Buck, it’s me! It’s Steve!”

“Soldier!” Pierce shouts over Steve. “ _Kill him_.”

Bucky hesitates, glancing back and forth between Pierce and Steve. He raises his gun.

Steve stops fighting. If he’s going to die, it seems fitting that Bucky do the killing.

“Buck,” he says, quiet, “I love you.”

There’s a gunshot and Steve shuts his eyes, bracing for the impact.

There is none.

When he opens them, Bucky is walking towards him, smoking gun left on the floor. He glances to Pierce, who is bleeding out from a clean shot through the eye.

“Buck?” Steve asks.

“I’m not sure who you are,” he says, ripping Steve’s restraints off with a metal hand. “We can figure that out later.” He hoists Steve up, picks him like he weighs nothing. “Let’s go.”

“Thank you,” Steve says.

Bucky looks him up and down. “I know you,” he says, before taking his hand.

They start running.


	89. Good First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought you were my roomies new boyfriend so I invited you in but your actually the RA of the dorm and now you think I want to have sex with you" - burymeinsurprise

Steve is toweling off his hair when there’s a knock on the door. “Shoot,” he mutters, dropping the towel on his bed. He’s shirtless, but wearing a pair of soft pajama pants, so he’s probably cool to open the door, right?

Right.

Better than letting Sam’s new boyfriend (who is egregiously early, by the way) wait in the hallway while Steve fishes a t-shirt out of his hamper, he just goes to the door shirtless. If it’s really going as well as Sam says it is, Steve’s sure he’ll catch the two of them in a compromising position at some point. “Hey there,” he says as he opens it up.

“Hi,” Sam’s boyfriend says.

And boy, is he cute. The first thing Steve notices are his eyes: bright blue, and huge. He’s got wide shoulders, and clean-cut brown hair. His thick, pink lips are gorgeous.

Sam is one lucky guy.

“C’mon in,” Steve says, opening the door wide and taking a step back. He smiles in a way that he hopes is inviting.

“Uh,” Sam’s boyfriend says. “Sure?”

“Sam’s not here yet — I think you’re a little early,” Steve says as Sam’s boyfriend follows him into the room.

“I didn’t know you were expectin’ me at a certain time,” Sam’s boyfriend says, looking a little stiff.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, walking to his closet. He grabs a soft, worn t-shirt and pulls it on. When he turns back around, Sam’s boyfriend is just staring at him from where he’s standing. “You can take a seat on Sam’s bed,” Steve suggests.

“I’m…” he starts, but shakes his head. “Which is Sam’s bed?”

Steve smiles, a little confused. He thought that Sam had brought this guy over before, but maybe not? “It’s on that side,” he says, pointing to Sam’s bed.

Sam’s boyfriend sits gingerly on the edge of Sam’s blue comforter. “Okay, so you know why I’m here?” he asks.

“Definitely,” Steve says. He plops down on his own bed, legs spread, stretching his arms up. His t-shirt pulls up, but he doesn’t really bother to smooth it out. “It’s just nice to get to know each other, right?”

“Sure,” Sam’s boyfriend says, fidgeting. “Yeah, uh, when is Sam gonna be back?”

“Uh, should be soon,” Steve says, flopping over so he’s laying horizontally across his bed. He probably looks a little “draw me like one of your French girls,” but it’s been a long day, and if things are really going as well as Sam is saying they are, then Steve being comfortable won’t change that.

“Maybe I could come back when Sam gets here?” he asks, voice a little rough.

Steve smiles a little confused smile. “There’s no need. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then another.

“So,” Steve starts, “how was your—“

He’s interrupted by the door banging open. “Sorry we’re late. _Somebody_ wanted to stop for fro-yo on the way over, and—“ Sam says as he walks in, stopping abruptly when he sees his boyfriend on the bed. “Who’re you, and why’re you on my bed?”

The guy jumps up. “Hi!” he says. “You must be Sam.”

Sam nods. “Yeah, I am.”

“And I’m Clint,” says the guy behind him, head popping over Sam’s shoulder.

Steve looks at Clint, then back at the guy, then back at Clint.

His heart sinks, because whoever that is, he’s _not_ Sam’s boyfriend.

“Great, cool. I’m your RA, Bucky, and uh, I’m just here to tell you about the hall meeting that’s happening tomorrow night, and to give you your roommate contract. I’m in room 215 if you need anything, and the contract has my contact info. Here—“ he says, shoving the paper at Sam. “Okay, I’m gonna,” he says, sort of shoving his way through the door.

“Steve, why did you let that stranger _sit on my bed_?” Sam asks, pointed.

“I thought he was your boyfriend!”

“Obviously not!” Sam says.

Steve pauses a moment to think. And then he realizes…

If he’s not Sam’s boyfriend, then he’s _totally_ fair game.

“I have to go,” Steve says.

“You are _not_ ,” Sam says.

Steve gets up, pats Sam on the shoulder, and nods to Clint. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

“You too!” Clint says. “Sorry we didn’t get you fro-yo,” he calls as Steve leaves.

——

Steve heads straight for 215 and knocks on the door.

“One sec!” he hears from the other side.

There’s the noise of moving furniture, and some shuffling around before Bucky opens the door.

And he goes immediately red.

“For the record,” Steve says, trying to maintain his composure, “I was supposed to meet Sam’s boyfriend tonight, and that’s who I thought you were. I don’t usually… Act like that with strangers.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, “That explains it.”

“But you’re not Sam’s boyfriend.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Never met him before.”

“Are you _anybody’s_ boyfriend?” Steve asks.

“Uh, no?”

“And is it against the rules for the RA to hook up with someone in his hall?”

There’s a pause, then, “Yes.”

“But is it one of those rules that you really have to follow, or is it one that you can break?”

Bucky looks to one side of the hall, then the other. “Breakable,” he says, grabbing Steve’s shirt, dragging him into his room and shutting the door behind him.

——

Steve doesn’t end up going back to his room to meet Clint.

He’s sure he’ll make it up to Sam somehow.


	90. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your country is trying to take over mine and I might be a little attracted to you and stop this it’s really hard to retaliate okay?" - stevebarnacles

“Steve,” Sam hisses, “the point of the game is to take over the _world_. Not take over every part of the world that _Barnes isn’t in charge of_.”

“No, no,” Steve says, glancing over Sam’s shoulder to where Bucky is in a hushed discussion with Natasha and Rhodey. “I think that making an alliance with Turkey could be _very_ beneficial.”

Sam shakes his head. “Man, you’re so wrong. I can’t tell you how wrong you are. You _know_ Natasha, and there’s no way she’s just gonna let you get around your alliance with Russia in order to screw the new Poli Sci major.”

“I think I can handle Natasha,” Steve says, a drop of sweat rolling down his forehead.

Sam sighs. “Well, it was nice knowing you, Great Britain.”

“Are you abandoning me, France?”

Sam groans. “No, of course not. But if Natasha wins tonight, you owe me a pizza.”

“Sure thing.”

“And _not_ some Papa John’s bullshit. I’m talking pizza from a family-owned Italian restaurant _with_ at least four toppings.”

Steve hesitates, then sighs. “Fine, sure, whatever. Now can you please go grab Bucky? I really wanna get this alliance settled.”

“Pathetic,” Sam says, but he heads across the room anyway.

——

They were prepared for Natasha.

What they weren’t prepared for was _Bucky_.

“I don’t think I technically owe you a pizza,” Steve says to Sam, still a little shellshocked at the end of the game.

“No, you’re right. You owe me a damn _feast_ ,” Sam says, muttering about getting their asses kicked by the new guy as he goes to commiserate with Sharon and Tony.

“Hey,” Bucky says, walking over to Steve with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey Bucky. Nice game.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. Steve laughs. “Alright, alright. You _creamed_ us. Where’d you learn to play like that?”

“Let’s just say game night in the Barnes household was wild.” He shifts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Hey, so if you’re interested in learning some strategy, we could go grab a cup of coffee or something.”

“Sure it’s not a trick? Gonna slip my cappuccino out for poison? Or even worse, Mountain Dew?”

Bucky chuckles, smiling. “Nah, promise it’s not a trick. Just some good will from your country’s new ruler.”

“Well, if it’s an older from the dictator, then I guess I’ll have to comply.”

Bucky nods. “Mm-hmm, you do. You, uh, busy now?”

Steve can’t help but grin. “No, I’m not.”

“Then let’s go.”

——

No matter what Sam says, Steve got what he wanted out of his strategy.


	91. Elevator Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Imagine your OTP stuck in an elevator after they’ve had a fight." - Anon.

The elevator door opens, and—

 _Shit_. It’s Bucky.

“Rogers,” Buck says, gruff. He slides in the elevator and punches in his floor with his metal thumb.

They stand next to each other, silent.

Steve can barely stand it.

“So,” Steve starts.

Bucky looks over, glaring. “Don’t even.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he mutters. “I won’t.”

They spend a few more seconds in awkward silence, and then the elevator stops and goes dark.

“What the…” Steve says. “JARVIS?” he asks.

“Pardon me, sirs, but there seems to an issue with the power. Mr. Stark and I are working to solve the problem — I will keep you informed as we go along.”

“Jeez,” Steve says, then looks to Bucky, who has been uncharacteristically quiet. It’s so dark that he can only just make out the outline of Bucky’s body “Buck?” he asks.

He hears Bucky’s sharp intake of breath. But other than that, silence.

It is so, so dark.

“Bucky, can I come over there?” Steve asks.

As soon as he hears Bucky’s soft affirmation, Steve takes a few small steps towards Bucky, careful that he doesn’t knock into him. “Hey,” he says, quiet. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” Buck says, just as quiet. Steve reaches out and holds onto his arm. Bucky moves closer, rests his head on Steve’s chest. “Sorry,” Buck says, voice rough. Steve can feel the way his breath hitches. He reaches up and rubs Bucky’s back, gentle.

“I’ve got you,” he says. “You’re safe; I’m here.”

“‘M sorry ‘bout last night,” Bucky says. Steve shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologize, Buck. It was my fault, I was being… stubborn.”

Bucky snorts. “First time for everythin’.”

Steve doesn’t even shoot back, just chuckles as he eases into Bucky. “No matter what, I’m here.” He presses a gentle kiss to Bucky’s temple. “I love you.”

He feels Bucky tense against him.

“You don’t have to say anything, Buck, but I—“

“Love you, too,” Bucky says, burrowing his head deeper into Steve’s chest.

“Sirs,” JARVIS says, “The lights should be coming on any—“

The lights turn back on and the elevator lurches back to life. Steve blinks, eyes slow to adjust to the sudden light. When his eyes do adjust, he looks down at Bucky who looks up at him with a shy smile. “Hi,” Steve says.

“Hey there.”

“Wanna go get ice cream?” Steve asks.

Buck’s smile grows. “Yeah,” he says. “That’d be great.”


	92. You Lack Self-Awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We argued so much during a class discussion that we both got kicked out and we’re still arguing outside the class" - Anon.

“That’s it,” Professor Hill says from the front of the classroom. “Barnes, Rogers, go take a powder.”

“But—“ Steve starts.

“ _Now_ ,” Professor Hill says, eyes narrowing.

Steve rolls his eyes, making as much noise as possible as he packs up his stuff and leaves the room. Of course, Barnes nearly knocks into him on the way out. “Watch it,” Steve says, scowling.

Barnes levels him with an annoyed look. “I was gonna apologize, but then I remembered what an asshole you are.”

Steve scowls _harder_. “ _I_ am _not_ an asshole,” he says.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? You’re not?”

“No,” Steve says.

“Really?”

“What did I just say?” Steve asks, wondering why this guy is being such an obstinate ass.

“Yeah, you’re a real doll. You interrupt everyone, you call people out by name, and you _never shut up_. I get it, okay You’re more liberal and better and smarter than all of us, but that doesn’t mean you’ve gotta throw it in everybody’s faces _all the time_. This class is supposed to be a _discussion_ , not the Steve Rogers lecture hour! And I didn’t even _touch_ you and you can’t chill for, like, a minute.”

Bucky is breathing hard.

Up until today Bucky had been somewhat soft-spoken in class, usually sitting across the Steve with a sympathetic smile for just about anybody (besides Steve). Steve had just assumed no one else cared.

Steve thought that Bucky just cared too much about the Bauhaus today. Maybe it was something else that made him get into a screaming match with the person across the table.

“Oh,” he says.

There’s a beat. Bucky deflates. “You never even realized.”

“Not really?” Steve says, shrinking back. He sort of wishes the floor would open up and eat him alive.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair. “You…” He starts, then shakes his head, sighing with frustration. “You just have no self-awareness at all, do you?”

“I thought I did,” Steve says, quiet.

“Shit, you look like I just kicked a puppy.” He rolls back on his heels, mouth twisting to the side in thought. “Let’s get coffee,” he says.

“What?” Steve asks, surprised.

“C’mon, let’s go. I’ll show you that other people do give a fuck, even if it’s not as substantial and huge a fuck as you give.”

“What does that even mean?” Steve asks, though he starts to smile.

“Don’t ask me that, Steve. I used up all my brain power for the day tryin’ to argue with you. Can I at least get some caffeine before we argue again? I need some caffeine.”

Steve goes ahead and lets himself laugh. “Alright!” he says, then adds, a little shy, “And, uh, it’s on me.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Because I do give a fuck. I don’t like that I was treating people poorly… Hopefully I can start to make it up to you.”

Bucky smiles, really smiles, and Steve’s knees go a little weak. “Sure,” he says, “It’ll be a start.”

It’s one thing Steve doesn’t want to argue with.


	93. Calamari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Imagine person A of your otp is waiting at a restaurant for their date and is obviously being stood up and person B notices this, just before person A gets sick of waiting and gets up to leave person B sits with them, and even though they aren’t who person A was waiting for they end up having a lot of fun and hooking up." - oldsouldier.

Bucky looks past his bad date to the guy sitting alone at a nearby table. He fiddles with his phone, picks at a loose string on the edge of his shirt. He’s not so much handsome as striking — his blue eyes alert and sad behind a pair of thick, black plastic glasses, his profile like something off a Greek coin. The way his head pops up every time someone walks through the door makes Bucky’s heart ache.

He’s been there almost as long as Bucky has. Chances are whoever it is he’s waiting for isn’t coming.

He looks at his date, who looks just as uncomfortable as he is. “This isn’t workin’, right?” he asks.

Scott sighs with relief. “No,” he says.

“That’s fine, not a love connection,” Bucky says. He reaches out to shakes Scott’s hand. “It was nice havin’ a drink.”

“You, too,” Scott says.

“I got this one,” Bucky adds.

“Great, I’m gonna…” Scott says, gathering his coat.

Bucky chuckles and says goodbye. He quickly pays their bill, then looks back over at the table. The guy’s shoulders are slumped, and he looks like he’s trying to make meaningful eye contact with his server. Bucky hustles over before he can.

“Hey,” Bucky says.

The guy looks up, and wow. He’s even prettier up close. “Uh, hi?” he asks.

“This is awkward, but did you get stood up?”

The guy tenses like he’s getting ready for a fight. “Why?” he asks.

“Because if you’re not busy, I’m wonderin’ if you wanted to have dinner with me, instead.”

The guy’s shoulders relax. “Oh,” he says. He purses his lips, glances down at his phone, then back up at Bucky. “Sure, that’s. Whatever, fine. Cool. You can take a seat.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m Steve.”

“Bucky,” Bucky says, picking up the menu. “Jesus, do you want some appetizers? Because calamari is speakin’ to me right now, and I wanna answer.”

Steve snorts a little laugh, and Bucky can’t help but look up.

He’s even better when he smiles.


	94. Emergency Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "you're still my emergency contact and i've been in an accident so you drop everything to come to the hospital!" - oldsouldier.

Bucky’s tires screech on the asphalt as he pulls into a parking space. His car is practically diagonal, but he doesn’t give a shit. He grabs his keys, runs out the door, slamming it behind him, not bothering to lock the car.

He sprints to the emergency room. The halls of this hospital are familiar to him — he came here a few times a week as a kid, always with a new story to tell Steve, or with a game to play with him. Later, he’d come back with Steve to sit with Sarah Rogers as she slowly withered away.

This time is different.

“Rogers,” he says to the frenzied nurse working the front desk. “Steve Rogers. Where is he?”

“Excuse me one moment, I’m—“

“ _Please_ ,” Bucky says, voice cracking. “I may not have much time.”

The woman looks up, gives Bucky a searching look. He hadn’t realized it before, but he’s shaking. She glances back down to a clipboard, eyes scanning a list. “Room 215,” she says.

Bucky starts off, shouting, “Thank you” as he goes.

He doesn’t run through the hall — he’s not that much of an asshole — but walks quickly, heart beating so fast. When he gets to room 215, he pauses, though, hesitating to open up the curtain. He’s not sure what he’ll see behind it.

He’s not sure if Steve even wants him to be here.

“He’s not awake,” says a voice from behind him.

Bucky turns, and Sam is standing behind him with a can of Coke. “Is he…?” Bucky starts. His voice catches in his throat.

“Got out of surgery about an hour ago. It was bad, and it’ll be a slow recovery, but he’ll be okay.”

Bucky slumps against the wall. “Thank God,” he says. He takes a breath for what feels like the first time since he got the call.

“How’d you find out he’s here, Bucky?” Sam asks.

“Still his emergency contact,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Man, I told him to change that,” Sam says.

Bucky sighs. “I should go, then,” he says. “Since you’re here. I—“

He’s interrupted by the sound of beeping machines, and the unmistakably British accent of Peggy Carter’s voice. “Steve?” she says. “Steve! Don’t!”

Bucky doesn’t even think, just pushes his way past the curtain to Steve’s room.

“Buck,” Steve says, eyes wide. He’s in his hospital gown, sitting on the edge of his bed. Peggy is standing over him, holding one of his hands. It almost seems as if he was trying to remove his IV, which is _so dumb_ , Steve. So dumb. Like he was trying to get up to…

To see Bucky?

“Hey,” Bucky says, voice cracking. Even if he’s acting like an idiot, it’s still Steve, and he hasn’t seen Steve since they broke up three weeks ago. His hair is messy and there’s a huge bruise on the side of his face, and he’s still the best thing Bucky’s ever seen.

“Don’t…” Steve says. HIs voice sounds rough. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Bucky says. Steve slumps, looking relieved. “Now, please, Steve.” Steve looks back up. “ _Lay down_.”

There’s a moment, then Steve grins. “Alright,” he says, finagling himself back into bed.

And Bucky knows that things will have to heal, but they’ll be okay.


	95. Teaching Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Imagine your OTP as teachers at the same school who are always flirting and have their students shipping them without realizing it." - shadesofsky.

“Did you see them today? They were _totally_ flirting.” Clint asks Natasha over Bosco sticks.

Natasha dips one of the cheesy breadsticks into a little plastic tub of pizza sauce. “Yes, but I’m not convinced that means anything. Mr. Barnes flirts with all of the front office ladies, too, and they’re all about sixty.” She pauses. “I think he flirted with some of the parents at last month’s teacher conference, too. It’s just the way he interacts with people. Mr. Rogers isn’t special.”

“I guess we’ll see on the class trip, now won’t we,” Clint says, eyebrows raised. He takes a big bite of his Bosco stick and grins.

Natasha rolls her eyes.

——

“Are you two gonna sit together on the plane?” Wanda asks in the airport. The senior class is headed to Washington D.C. for the long weekend, and it’s Shield High’s worst kept secret that Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes are gonna share a hotel room. Now, everyone just wants to see whether it’s because they’re both teachers, or if they’re _sharing_ the room.

Mr. Barnes looks at Mr. Rogers, and shrugs. “I dunno, you’ve got everyone’s tickets, right?” he asks.

“Oh yeah, lemme…” Mr. Rogers pulls their tickets out of his back pocket. He leafs through a few of them and says. “Yeah, seems like we’re sitting together. That okay?” he asks Mr. Barnes.

“Can I have the window seat?” Mr. Barnes asks with a smile.

Mr. Rogers rolls his eyes. “High-maintenance,” he says.

“But that’s how you like me,” Mr. Barnes answers.

From where he’s eavesdropping a few seats away, Clint waggles his eyebrows at Natasha. Natasha shakes her head, slow. “Not convinced,” she says.

“Oh,” Clint says, “you will be.”

—-

“Hey, Mr. Rogers!” Mr. Barnes calls from the hotel’s mediocre breakfast buffet the next morning. Mr. Rogers is sitting at a nearby table, looking rumpled and tired. He keeps yawning, and he looks like he still has bedhead.

He shoots Mr. Barnes a grumpy look. “What?” he asks.

“Oh nothing,” he says. Mr. Rogers frowns harder. “They’ve only got an entire pan of warm cinnamon rolls. _Your favorite_.”

Mr. Rogers perks up. “They do?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m grabbing you a couple because you’re _my_ favorite, and a cup of coffee.”

“Grab a carafe,” Mr. Rogers says, lowering his head onto the table. “I’m _tired_.”

Clint nudges Natasha with his elbow. She nearly drops the serving spoon she’s using to scoop watery scrambled eggs up onto her plate. She glares at Clint. “Cinnamon roll?” he asks with a sheepish grin.

“Wow, this is almost as sweet as you are,” they hear Mr. Rogers say in a sarcastic, saccharine voice at his table.

“Proves _nothing_ ,” Natasha mutters, dropping the spoon back into the scrambled eggs and stomping off to their table.

Clint glances over at Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers, who are sitting across the table from one another, sipping coffee and laughing about something one of them said.

They’re _totally_ doing it.

—-

It’s springtime, and the cherry trees are blossoming. They stop to take a class picture, and then spend some time just walking around. Clint and Natasha walk behind Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers. Natasha has other things she’d like to do, but Clint is so focused on making his point that she lets him have his fun.

“This is nice,” Mr. Barnes says. He knocks his shoulder into Mr. Rogers. “Sure beats a day in the classroom, huh?”

Mr. Rogers chuckles. “Joke all you want, but I know that you love your job.”

Mr. Barnes doesn’t say anything. He reaches up and grabs a flower floating on the breeze. “You know what I love?” Mr. Barnes asks.

“What?” Mr. Rogers says.

“You,” Mr. Barnes says, holding the flower out to Mr. Rogers.

“Buck!” Mr. Rogers hisses, but he takes the flower with gentle fingers.

Next to her, Clint looks like he’s about to combust. Natasha scowls.

“It doesn’t—“ Natasha starts to say, but Clint pushes her, holding his index finger to his lips for the universal sign of “shhh.”

“I was trying to wait, but this is just… It’s perfect,” Mr. Barnes says.

“Hmm? What is it?” Mr. Rogers is staring at Mr. Barnes with a dopey looking smile on his face. Mr. Barnes looks away, all shy, reaching into his back pocket.

And then Mr. Barnes stops walking, kneels down, and holds out a ring.

“Wanna marry me?” he asks.

Mr. Rogers looks at Mr. Barnes wide-eyed for a moment. Mr. Barnes is still kneeling, smiling all nervously. Then Mr. Rogers’ face crumples up and he starts crying. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, emphatic. “Yes, I do, Buck. Of course I do.”

The other classmates eavesdropping start to clap and cheer. Mr. Barnes stands up and reaches out to a blushing Mr. Rogers, pulls him close, and they kiss.

“So?” Clint says, looking at Natasha with raised brows. “Still gonna deny it?”

“You were right,” Natasha says, begrudgingly, though she can’t help but sneak a happy look over at her teachers. They kept their kiss PG, but they’re standing real close together, smiling and talking quietly.

“Hell _yes_ I was right!” Clint says.

Natasha shrugs, starting to walk again. “A broken clock is still broken twice a day.”

“Aw,” Clint says, reaching over and taking her hand. “Why do you gotta be so mean?”

Natasha glances over, smiling, then squeezes his hand. They walk away, but Natasha glances back one last time. Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers seem engulfed in a swirl of cherry blossom petals, looking happy and in love.

She looks over at Clint. She doesn’t mind being wrong about something this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this batch. I'm going to keep this going for five more chapters (until chapter 100!) and then I'm gonna end this particular fic and figure out a new way to collect stories, because I'm realizing most people don't want to slog through 100 chapters.


	96. Love Finds You When You Least Expect It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Person A has given up on love. Nope. Love is not for them. Forget that…. And then they meet person B and think; “Annnd this is the asshole who will ruin everything.” - Anonymous.

It is a bright, sparkling sunshine day in the life of Steven Grant Rogers. He woke-up feeling refreshed, had a lovely cup of chicory coffee, and got to work in plenty of time. He’s on his way to a promotion, and he knows it, and he sits at his desk with a hot mug of tea, knowing that he’s about to put in a good day’s work. Before pulling up his reports, he takes a brief scroll through Facebook.

Cute picture of Jessica and Luke on their honeymoon?

Like.

Post about Clint’s new job working with the US Olympic archery team?

Like.

Photo of Brock flexing his muscles in front of—

Steve scrolls past as fast he can.

It’s been a while since he and Brock broke up, and Steve’s totally and completely 100% over it, but he doesn’t like to be _reminded_ of Brock, per se. He’s at ease with being single — he has been for a while. It’s simpler to go through this phase of life without someone else by his side or in his bed.

“Hey Steve,” Natasha says, walking over to his cubicle. “Have you met Bucky?”

Steve looks up and sees the guy he’s going to marry.

 _Fuck_.

——

Bucky speaks with a small smile and a Brooklyn drawl. “I was in finance for a while, but decided it wasn’t my scene,” he says over Panera salads. They’re out in a group, and Steve is on the opposite end of the table from Bucky. He really wishes he were closer.

“I don’t think you can be in finance and still have a soul,” Natasha says, ripping apart her baguette.

Bucky snorts. It should be dorky, but it’s just endearing. “Think you’re right,” he says. He looks up and makes eye contact with Steve. Steve immediately glances away, blushing, then regretting it a moment later because he probably looks _guilty as hell_.

“Anyone want a cookie?” Sam asks.

“I’ll get them!” Steve says, jumping up and heading to the counter. He doesn’t stop to ask who even wants what kind of cookie, so he just ends up paying way too much for an entire box.

Worth it to get away from Bucky’s blue eyes for even a minute.

——

“Hey,” Bucky says, sidling up to Steve on their walk back to the office. Steve jumps, nearly dropping the box of cookies. (There were extras, so he’s taking them back to the office to put in the break room.) “Woah there, you okay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Steve says, tripping over his own feet.

Bucky grabs his elbow, steadying him. He lets his hand linger, and Steve doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s genuinely worried that Steve can’t walk six feet without flopping over, or if he’s flirting. “For someone who looks like he spends half his time at the gym, you sure seem to be having a tough time walkin’ down the sidewalk.” He pauses, smiles. “Maybe I’m a bad luck charm?”

“No!” Steve says, maybe a little to emphatic. Bucky looks down, chuckles. “No, I mean, of _course_ not. Bad luck charms don’t exist, and they’re especially not people.”

Bucky looks back up, smirking. “Yeah?”

Steve nods. “I think you’re fine. Just fine.”

Smooth, Steve.

They walk in silence for a moment, then Bucky says, “So Natasha tells me you’re an artist?”

“Actually, I’m an accounts manager.”

“She showed me that portrait you drew of her,” Bucky says. “It was great. Think it’s safe to say that you’re an artist, despite bein’ an accounts manager.”

Steve laughs. “I don’t know if I should be offended.”

“Didn’t mean it offensively,” Bucky says.

Steve just lets himself look for a moment. Bucky’s beautiful.

“So, this may be a little forward of me,” Bucky says, startling Steve out of his gaze. Steve perks up, at attention, heart beating quickly. “But would you be interested in fuckin’ in the second floor bathroom at, I dunno, three o’clock?”

Steve actually trips this time.

“Woah, Steve, are you—“ Bucky starts, leaning down to help him up.

“Yes!” Steve says.

“Huh?”

“Yes, let’s…” Steve takes Bucky’s hand and lets him help haul him up. “3 o’clock.”

Bucky grins, gives Steve’s hands a little squeeze. “Three o’clock it is.”

——

“Oh my god, Bucky, oh my god,” Steve breathes. Bucky’s got his hand wrapped around Steve’s dick and it feels _amazing_.

Bucky sucks at Steve’s neck and Steve is close, he’s so close, he’s—

Huh?

Bucky stops, pulling back and looking Steve in the eyes. “You are under no obligation to say yes, but will you go on a date with me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, nodding with enthusiasm. “Now can you—“

“Tonight?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, tonight,” Steve says.

“Great,” Bucky says, going back to touching Steve. “I’ll pick you up at your cubicle,” he says, and Steve comes.

——

Six months later, Steve wakes up tired. He knows that he ran out of coffee yesterday, but didn’t get a chance to pick any up from the store. It’s a Saturday, so he doesn’t need to worry about getting to the office, and he’s been toying around with quitting, especially since he didn’t get that promotion. He’s been drawing more, lately, and he forgot how much he loves it. Steve yawns, knowing that he should get up and do something productive with his day. But then Bucky wiggles around a little, groaning and reaching out for Steve, so Steve settles in.

All in all, it’s a bright, sparkling sunshine day in the life of Steven Grant Rogers.

——

“You know,” Bucky says a little later. They’re still in bed, but upright now, Bucky leaning against Steve’s chest, Steve playing with Bucky’s hair. “This is gonna sound real dumb.”

“Nothing new, coming from you,” Steve says.

Bucky snorts, and lazily smacks Steve’s thigh before resting his hand there. His thumb rubs small circles onto Steve’s skin.

“Shut it, I’m tryin’ to be _romantic_.” Steve smiles and lets him talk. “Things were goin’ really well for me when we met. I got the new job, a good apartment, my student loans were paid off. And I just got outta that shit relationship, too. I thought I was in a good place, and I didn’t even _want_ to meet anybody who would make things… messy.” Steve stops messing with Bucky’s hair, and just listens. “And I… _God_ , this sounds so dumb, but I got to work that mornin’ and went around and I saw your head pop over your cubicle like a little gold meerkat and I thought to myself, _shit, I’m gonna marry that guy_.”

Steve can’t keep himself from grinning, even as his eyes fill with tears. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Told you it was stupid,” Bucky mumbles.

“I thought the same thing,” Steve says.

Bucky straightens up, looks at Steve. “Yeah?” he asks, looking at Steve with his big, blue, hopeful eyes.

Steve nods. “I know it sounds too coincidental to be true, but it is.”

“Cool,” Bucky says. “So, tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ve got fixings for roast—“

“No, I mean. Wait, roast?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. “Your favorite.”

Bucky grins, reaching up and cupping Steve’s cheek, guiding him down and kissing him. “That’s great,” he says. “But I was thinkin’ somethin’ else for tonight.”

“What’s that?” Steve asks.

“How about we get married?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “Let’s.”

——

Steve never expected his life to turn out this way.

But as he slips a ring onto Bucky’s finger, he knows that what he has now is so much better than anything he’d ever imagined.


	97. Sex/Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We met on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame" - Anon.

Steve shuffles out of Whatshisname From the Bar’s apartment somewhat discombobulated: obvious bedhead, boxers that may or may not be his, only one of his socks.

So, all-in-all, a good night.

He starts the walk back to his apartment as the sun rises, a smile on his face. He’s not someone who minds an early morning, especially when the last night was good. Doesn’t hurt that it’s Sunday and he’s blissfully free for the rest of the day.

Steve is about to cross 4th and Oak when another guy stumbles over.

He looks _wrecked_.

He’s got bags under his eyes, and Steve is pretty sure the guy’s shirt is on backwards. He’s carrying one shoe, despite the fact that he’s got a backpack on, and when Steve looks down, he notices a huge hole in the guy’s sock. But the thing Steve can’t stop staring at his messy, obvious sex hair. And there’s a lot of it, knotted up and all over the place. It can’t be comfortable, but Steve can’t blame whoever did it — if he could get his hands into those locks, he would.

“Fun night?” Steve asks, as they wait for the light to change.

The guy looks over and raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?” he asks. His lips are plush and pink, and Steve wonders what that five o’clock shadow would feel like against his skin.

He’s half in love, but after they cross the street, the guy heads the opposite direction.

Oh well, Steve thinks. Guess it wasn’t meant to be.

——

Doesn’t stop him from taking the same route home a few days later. 

He had a nice time with Olivia from Economics Class, but he kept thinking about the guy from 4thand Oak, and what his lips would feel like on his.

He tries to not get his hopes up as he walks home — relatively put-together; he and Olivia got undressed in a pretty organized fashion, so he has both his socks.

Steve gets to 4th and Elm and his heart almost stops. There’s a man with a backpack walking half a block up, and Steve would recognize that sex hair anywhere.

Grinning, Steve hustles to catch up with him. Thankfully, the light turns as soon as the guy gets to the intersection, so Steve has the entire cycle to chat him up, figure out what his deal is.

He tries to play it cool, slowing down just before he gets to the corner so he can saunter up next to the guy, maybe make him notice Steve’s ass a bit.

It doesn’t seem to work. The guy’s eyes rest solely on Steve’s face.

“You again?” he asks.

Steve nods, trying to keep it cool, but internally screaming about the fact that he remembered him. “Yeah,” he says. “Live around here?”

“You could say that,” the guy responds, grimacing. He looks back out at the street, which is not optimal.

“Yeah? Your partner lives here?”

The guy snorts. “Sure, 155 Elm Street. Check the place out, it’s a blackhole.”

Steve’s smile falls. Of course he’s taken. That explains the sex hair.

“What about you? Assuming you’re not out for your morning run in those pants.”

Steve looks down at his barhopping black pants. They’re tight, and Steve gives himself a point because the guy _did_ get a glance of his ass.

“Nah, that comes next.”

The guy grimaces. “You’re kiddin’, right?”

Steve laughs. “The only way to get rid of a hangover is outrun it!”

The guy actually _shivers_ , like the fact that Steve would go out for a run is actually freaking him out. “You’re way too perky,” he says. The light changes, and he starts walking, Steve close at his heels.

“I’d say energetic,” Steve says, singsong, just to see if he can get a rise outta the guy.

The guy barks out a rough chuckle, and if his sex noises are anything like that sound, Steve would literally die and go to heaven.

“You get home okay,” the guy says as he turns to go his own way, and Steve just stands on the corner like a dope, looking at the guy walking away.

“Steve!” he finds himself calling out. “My name’s Steve!”

The guy waves, but doesn’t turn around.

Doesn’t give his name.

Steve sighs.

(But at least he’s got an address now.)

——

Except the guy’s a goddamn liar.

The address is for the Leia Lowell Memorial Library. Unless the guy’s dating a librarian with an exhibitionist kink, Steve seriously doubts that this is where he spends his Friday nights.

——

Steve blows Ricky from the Gym on the way out, but hurries out the door so he can make it to 4thand Elm.

But he doesn’t see the guy anywhere.

He slumps, disappointed.

“Here,” the guy says, and Steve practically jumps. The guy’s got a cup of coffee in either hand, and is holding one of those hands out to Steve. “It’s coffee. You drink that, right? Or are you too energetic for it?”

“I always drink coffee,” Steve says. “Thanks.” He takes the cup.

The guy shrugs. His sex hair looks _worse_ than usual, which is saying something. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna be here, so I was ready to double fist it.”

Steve laughs before taking a small sip. “Well, I appreciate the thought.” He pauses, then adds, “Then again, you’re a big liar, so.” The guy raises an eyebrow, like he’s actually confused. “The address? It was the library. I don’t think you’re hooking up with Mrs. Carrie Anne from Reference.”

“The only thing Mrs. Carrie Anne hooks me up with are database suggestions.”

Steve laughs. The light changes, but the guy doesn’t move, so Steve doesn’t, either. “So? What’re you doing out here at this hour of the day.”

“I told you,” the guy says, looking at Steve like he’s not quite getting it. “I’m in the library.”

Steve pauses.

“So you’re really hooking up with—“

“No, Jesus, get your mind outta the gutter, Steve. I’m workin’ on my dissertation.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

But it doesn’t add up, it just doesn’t add up.

“The hair, though,” Steve says.

The guy looks almost self-conscious. “Yeah, what about it?” he mutters, reaching up and touching it.

“It’s _sex hair_.”

“It’s _stress hair_ ,” he says. “I pull at it because _I’m stressed_.”

“I could help you _destress_ ,” Steve says, inching closer to him.

“Can you now?” he asks, looking more bemused than anything else.

“Yeah, though I’m not gonna do it with you behind the reference—“

“Okay, bye,” the guy says, spinning around on his heel.

“Wait!” Steve calls, actually panicked because he hadn’t thought he’d gotten the wrong idea like that, and he doesn’t want to let this guy walk away like that.

But he turns around, and he’s grinning. “Bucky,” he says, but Steve has trouble hearing him over the blood rushing through his ears.

“ _Fuck_ me?” Steve asks, wide-eyed and confused because that was a helluva change real quick.

The guy shakes his head, but he’s laughing now, really laughing. “ _Buck_ y,” he says. “That’s my name.”

Steve sags. “Sorry,” he says. “Maybe that was a Freudian slip.”

“C’mon,” Bucky says, wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Let’s get some breakfast. You eat that, right?”

Steve laughs, slipping a hand into Bucky’s back pocket because, well, he’s human.

(And Bucky is still so, _so_ hot, even with stress hair.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post this as a separate fic, but I thought against it.


	98. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: i was so sleep-deprived after the night shift that i climbed into bed with you (and you just rolled with it).

Every night Steve goes to sleep alone.

He gets home from work earlier than Bucky, and when they were together, it was an issue. Steve didn’t like that their schedules didn’t sync up, or the way that he’d wake up when Bucky snuggled up behind him once he made it home.

Now, he’d give anything to have anything besides the sound of the door to what used to be the guest bedroom closing.

Or, he would be waking up if he could sleep at all.

“You look like shit,” Natasha says to Steve two months after the break-up. They’re sitting at the kitchen table in the little house they share with Bucky, Clint, and Sam. Steve made them both a casserole for supper, but Steve only picks at it. He hasn’t felt hungry, lately.

Steve shrugs and takes a swig of beer. “Worked a full day. Gallery was busy.”

“You made us a casserole,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she takes a forkful of casserole.

Steve looks down, knowing exactly what she means.

“It’s not… I’m not _depressed_ ,” he says. “I just haven’t been sleeping.”

She nods. “Tomorrow I’ll make dinner,” she says.

“Thanks.”

He appreciates that she doesn’t pry.

 

—-

 

That night, when he hears the guest room door shut, he cries into his pillow. Quiet, because he’s the one who broke up with Bucky. He shouldn’t be allowed to cry over his own mistakes.

 

——

 

And then his door opens. Steve shoots up, seeing Bucky’s silhouette in the doorway. He’s wearing boxers and one of Steve’s worn t-shirts. His hair is messy and all over the place.

He’s the greatest thing Steve’s ever seen.

“Hey,” Steve says, voice cracking.

Bucky sort of grunts, shuffling in and shutting the door behind him.

Steve’s not sure what he’s going to do until Bucky flops into bed and spoons himself up behind Steve. “Buck?” Steve asks.

“Shh,” Bucky says. “’M tired.”

“Me too,” Steve admits. A few tears trickle down his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” Bucky whispers, breath warm on the back of Steve’s neck. “I’m here now. You don’t gotta cry.’

“Don’t go,” Steve says.

“I won’t.”

They fall asleep, Bucky softly snoring.

 

——

 

Steve wakes up when he feels Bucky leave. He shoots up, seeing Bucky trying to tiptoe over to the door. “Buck?” he asks.

“Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so sorry. I knew you hadn’t been sleepin’, I was tired, I—“

“Come back to bed,” Steve says, unable to help the way his voice cracks.

“You want me to?” Bucky asks, looking small and shy.

“I want _you_ ,” Steve says.

Bucky practically dives back into bed. Steve grunts as Bucky climbs on top of him, showering his face with kisses. Steve can’t help but laugh, pulling Bucky in closer. “I’m never letting you go, Buck. Never again.”

“Promise?” Bucky asks.

“Yes.”

 

——

 

They spend all day in bed.

Steve has never felt more well-rested.


	99. Best Friend and Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you’ve been sleeping at mine because your house is being renovated and we (aren’t even dating, yet every time you wake up to the baby crying and sigh, “i’ll go” i feel like we might as well be married) is super cute omg [stevebucky ofc] - cryobaby

Peggy cries, Steve groans, and Bucky pats Steve’s head twice. “I got her,” he says. “Go back to sleep.”

Steve mumbles his thanks and conks out, drooling on his pillow.

When he wakes up a little later, he walks into Peggy’s room and sees Bucky sleeping on the rocking chair, Peggy cradled in his arms. Steve smiles, wipes at his tired eyes a bit, and heads back bed. Bucky’s got Peggy handled, and the extra sleep can’t hurt.

 

——

 

“Here comes the choo choo!” Bucky says, wagging Peggy’s little spoon around. “Open up!”

Peggy laughs, reaching a chubby arm out towards Bucky. He takes the opportunity to pop the spoon into her open mouth. “Ah, there we go!” he says, as she gums at the plastic utensil.

“How are you so good at that?” Steve asks. “I can barely get her to eat at all.”

Bucky leans back to look at Steve, who is standing at the sink washing dishes. “It’s a gift,” he says. “If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’re just saying that because you know you’d get the apartment.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, looking back at Peggy and booping her cherubic little nose. “It’s because I know I’d get to spend all my time with this little one.”

Steve laughs, turning back to the pan he’s scraping. He can’t stop his smile.

(Even if his best friend just implied that he’d murder him to steal his baby.)

 

——

 

“Buck!” Steve says, Peggy crying in one arm, trying to flip a pancake with the other. “Thank God you’re here, can you grab…”

Bucky — uncharacteristically quiet — shuts the front door, comes to Steve and takes Peggy from him. He rocks her back and forth as she reaches up and tries to pull at Bucky’s hair. “Quiet, baby girl,” he says, leaning down to kiss her forehead. He looks up at Steve. “Pancakes?” he asks.

“Yeah, I ran out of everything else besides Bisquick. We can order something, if you want, but I was just hungry, and I…” He stops, looks at Bucky, really _looks_ at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ _wrong_ ,” Bucky says, looking down at Peggy, who is starting to doze off in his arms. “But uh, my landlord called. The place was redone, and he’s offerin’ everybody really reduced rates if we move back in.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He turns back to the stove and flips the pancake. “So you’re moving out?” he asks, biting down on his lip.“Not like I can stick around here forever.”

Steve pauses, thinking, trying to find a reason for Bucky to _stay_. “There’s no rush, if you didn’t want to move back to that place. Your landlord’s neglect was why the place got bedbugs in the first place.”

“It’s a really good deal, Steve. And I liked that place.”

“I’m just saying that if you’re signing because you think I want you to leave, you don’t need to. Okay?”

Bucky is quiet, long enough that Steve turns back around. Bucky shakes his head. “I can’t do this anymore,” he says.

“What?” Steve asks, stomach sinking.

Bucky sighs, readjusts a now-snoozing Peggy in his arms. “I’ve never once tried to pressure you, Steve. I’ve always known where I stood, and I stayed away, even when Sharon left. You’re my best friend.”

“Buck, I don’t understand.”

Bucky clenches his jaw; it looks like he’s close to crying, and Steve can’t figure out _why_. “I can’t keep playin’ house, not like this. Sleepin’ in the same bed, takin’ care of Peggy. I need to get outta here before I start gettin’ ideas.”

“Bucky, you’re always welcome here.”

Bucky shakes his head, slowly, sad smile on his lips. “Steve, I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” Steve says. They used to tell each other all the time, when they were young. Steve always thought it was implied.

Bucky shakes his head again, faster. Peggy stirs a little, but snuggles up against Bucky’s chest again. “You think of me as a friend.” Steve nods — of course he does. “And I think of you the same way. Except, I want more.” He pauses. “I _love_ you.”

“Oh,” Steve says, blindsided. “I hadn’t, I didn’t…”

“That’s why I should go,” Bucky says. He kisses Peggy’s head, then holds her out to Steve. “I’m gonna pack my things.”

Steve reaches out and takes Peggy. She starts to fuss, and Steve wants to call out to Bucky, to ask him to take Peggy back so he can finish the pancakes.

He doesn’t.

 

——

 

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” Bucky says.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Steve says. “Get your ass in this bed.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Jesus,” he says, “So demandin’.”

But he gets into bed.

He’s always been a warm, solid presence next to Steve, but tonight it feels… different. Heavy.

Steve hates it.

He’s never thought of Bucky in any way besides friendship. Steve hasn’t ever _let_ himself. He’s always thought Bucky was handsome — he watched him grow up, settle into his limbs, his features. And he’s watched Bucky date with trepidation, always buzzing with the constant worry that he would _lose_ Bucky to someone else.

So much of Steve is defined by his friendship with Bucky that the thought of losing it scared him.

Scares him.

But change… isn’t necessarily terrible. He thought the world would end when Sharon left him, but it didn’t. Having a child seemed like the most terrifying thing in the world, especially when he and her mother weren’t involved anymore, but Peggy is the best thing about his life.

And Steve likes sleeping next to Bucky. He’s gotten used to it.

“Buck?” Steve asks.

“Yeah?”

“You awake?” he asks.

Bucky snorts. “Obviously.”

Steve moves over Bucky, hovering above him. “Steve?” Bucky asks.

He leans down and kisses Bucky — just a gentle press of Steve’s lips to Bucky’s.

It feels right; a puzzle piece he never realized was missing finally in its place.

“Steve?” Bucky asks again when Steve pulls back up, voice quiet, almost shaking.

Steve reaches over and runs a hand through Bucky’s hair. “Stay here,” he says. “Stay with me and Peggy. We need you. And I… I want you.”

“Are you serious?” Bucky asks. “Don’t do this if you’re not, Steve.”

Steve nods. “I am,” he says. He kisses Bucky’s forehead, because he can now, and because it feels so right. “I hadn’t realized… that we could be something other than what we were. Does that make sense?” Bucky nods. “But I… This is how it’s supposed to be. I can—“

He trails off because Peggy is crying.

Bucky laughs. “I’ll go,” he says.

Steve nods, “I’ll go, too.”

 

——

 

They fall asleep together on the couch. Peggy on Bucky’s lap, Steve’s arm around Bucky.

A family.


	100. New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “so not to be rude or anything but i’ve been coming to this cemetery at this time on this day every week for fucking years and i’ve always been alone up until now seriously what the hell” au - pumpkinspicedbarnes

“Hey Buck,” Steve says, setting a daisy down on the grave, then a smoothy, shiny black rock next to it. “March tenth, huh? You would’ve been twenty-eight today.” He sits down next to the plot and pulls off his backpack. “I thought we’d have a little party this year. It’s not often that your birthday falls on a Saturday.”

Saturday was their day, when they’d play as kid, then _play_ as teenagers. After Bucky died, Steve kept coming on Saturdays. Ten years, and he’s only missed his Saturday night with Bucky when he’s been sick, or those horrible weeks when his mother’s health declined, and he couldn’t bear to leave her side. He knew Bucky would understand.

Honestly, Steve knows that if Bucky really saw what he did every Saturday, he’d roll his eyes, and say something sarcastic about Steve needing to find something better to do.

Steve smiles as he pulls out a little plastic-wrapped cake, a candle, two Snickers bars, and a can of Diet Coke. “I didn’t want to bring a sheet cake just for just my…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “So it’s kind of small. Can’t fit twenty-eight candles on here, but the one will do. If you have any complaints, I’ll hear them now.”

He pauses. There’s nothing but the sound of the wind.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, quiet. He unwraps the cake and sticks the candle in it. It takes a few tries to get the old lighter he carries at the bottom of his bag to light — especially because of the wind — but eventually he lights the candle. He clears his throat again, but it doesn’t help. The moment he starts to sing his throat is scratchy, his eyes are wet. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Buck, happy birthday…” Tears start dripping, and he has to pause and wipe them off. “Happy birthday to you.”

The wind blows and the candle goes out.

“I miss you,” Steve says. “It’s been ten years but I _miss_ you.”

“Maybe it’s because you spend all your Saturday nights here instead of goin’ out, havin’ a life.”

Steve jumps, dropping the cake onto the grass. He hadn’t heard anyone come up but now there’s suddenly a presence beside him. “Fuck,” he says, scrambling to pick it back up.

“Klutz,” the voice says, but Steve can hear in his tone that he’s not laughing at him. He’s charmed.

Steve doesn’t dare look up, because he can remember the last person who was actually charmed by him, and that person has been dead for the past ten years. “Buck?” he asks.

“Hey,” Bucky says, quiet. Steve hears him sit, feels the weight of his arm as he slings it over his shoulders and pulls Steve close. “Thanks for comin’.”

“I come every week, Buck,” Steve says, voice shaking. “Do you know?”

“I do,” Bucky says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple. “And I miss you, too.”

“I think…” He pauses, laughs. “I think that the mushrooms in my risotto this afternoon weren’t porcini.”

“Risotto for lunch? Didn’t know I was talkin’ to Mr. Moneybags over here.”

Steve snorts. “You smell the same,” he finds himself saying, and leave it to him to say the stupidest thing possible when talking to his dead ex-boyfriend.

“Gee, thanks?” Bucky says.

“I mean, given the circumstances, there was a pretty good chance you’d smell like… well…”

“Dead, rotting flesh?” Bucky asks and Steve can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Steve says.

Bucky laughs. “See you brought all my favorites,” he says. “Diet Coke and Snickers.”

“A very refined palate,” Steve says.

“Hey,” Bucky says, nudging him. “I was eighteen when I died. Gimme a break. It’s not like I remember you sittin’ around eatin’ porcini mushrooms when _you_ were eighteen.” Bucky’s laughing, but suddenly Steve isn’t.

“Buck,” he says, “why’re you here? Why now?”

“Wanted to see my best guy.” He pulls Steve in closer. Steve can feel Bucky’s breath on the back of his neck. He adds, softer, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Age hasn’t made you a better liar.” He sighs. “I want you to live well, Steve. You know that, right?”

“’Course.”

“Then why’re you sittin’ ‘round here? Why haven’t you moved away, done shit with your life. You should at least go on vacation, for Christsakes. Go see Paris! Go see all the art that you talked about in high school. What’re you doin’, workin’ a desk job and eating risotto at lunch.”

“Risotto is _delicious_ ,” Steve interrupts.

That causes Bucky to pause. “‘Course it is,” he says. “I just hate it. I hate thinkin’ that you’re throwin’ your life away ‘cuz some asshole got drunk and decided to drive home one night. That’s not fair — not to me, and not to you.”

The wind blows again; it’s late and getting colder. March 10 doesn’t feel like winter, but it’s not spring, either. An in-between. A terrible time with muddy slush and chilly wind.

“I just… I wish you were here.”

“Buck up, Stevie. I’ll always be in your heart.”

“Corny bastard.”

Bucky laughs. “Only for you,” he says.

“If I… If I try to look at you, will you disappear?” Steve asks.

“No,” Bucky says, quiet. “But I don’t think I can stick along for much longer.”

“Then lemme…” Steve says, maneuvering himself so he’s facing Bucky. He smiles, because Bucky’s just as beautiful as he remembers. “Buck,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. He reaches out and touches the little lines on the edge of Bucky’s eyes. “You have wrinkles.”

“Time marches forward,” Bucky says, “even if you wanna stay in the past.” His blue eyes fill with tears. “Steve,” he says, urgent, “You gotta go now. You do.”

“But I love you,” Steve says.

“Then you’ll do it for me. Stop bein’ stubborn for one sec, and do it for me,” he says. Steve bites his lip. “And Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve whispers.

“I love you, too.”

The wind blows, and Bucky’s gone.

 

——

 

That night, Steve sits in front of his laptop.

New York to Paris. 6:45 AM.

He takes a bite of a Snickers bar and presses the buy button.

 

——

 

“Hey man, you scared?” the guy in the seat next to him asks as Steve winces through take-off.

“I haven’t flown in ten years,” Steve says. “I’m nervous.”

“If it’ll help, you can squeeze my hand,” the guy says with a big, toothy grin.

Steve smiles back. “I think I’ll be fine.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m Steve.”

“Sam,” he says.

Steve thinks of Bucky and asks, “You like Snickers bars?”

“Sure do,” Sam says. “Why?”

“You wanna share one?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my friends! Don't worry -- I will post more of my short fics, just not in mambo writes fluffy tumblr prompts. Thanks to everyone who has commented and given kudos; you all rock. 
> 
> As always, my Tumblr is [whtaft](whtaft.tumblr.com).


End file.
